✾welcum 2 poppy's garden✾

I was basically stuck in the Boys Club, feeling 9 years old, horribly self conscious and like I was at a birthday party. Once more, I was that weird girl saying weird things, like when I was a child. Everyone would just give me weird looks whenever I spoke. At least, that's what it felt like. Being a little city mouse in the middle of the woods and all. Skittish and bug-eyed and anxious about knocking things over.

Boys Club, yes it was! Big surprise--the cannabis industry is totally male-dominated! I worked mostly with men. They could have been a lot worse. Everyone was chillin hard, very agreeable--there weren't any problems (except that the friend who took me was kind of mean). In clandestine male-dominated operations, really sketchy shit can go down. The only sketchy thing about the whole ordeal is that I have not gotten paid yet.......

I felt very , very subdued. When I arrived, I was my unabashed self, but that wasn't a comfortable thing to be, so I hid beneath layers and layers and layers of clothing because the world was so cold and wet. My friend quickly proved to be an unreliable source of emotional support , so I turned off my sensitive babblings and jubilations -- a vital part of me -- as well.

I was pretty damned quiet.

Spent a whole lot of time thinking. Thinking about myself and those immediately surrounding me, thinking about efficiency and timeliness and good work, thinking about female laborers, thinking about lovers. I did have friends there, and all our time spent not trimming or sleeping was spent shooting the shit.

I'm back now and I'm done with being subdued. I spent the holiday with my best friend and her boyfriend and I was back to my jubilant raucous stoned self in no time. I'm still slightly readjusting. I just began menstruating...it's extra heavy because I skipped bc this month, extra crampy because I had sex on it. I love the deluge but ouch, it hurts! The number one bummer is that it puts me out of work for a week. I haven't been able to pay rent because of this hold up and that's a shitty feeling. I definitely lost money going on this trip. Sigh. But that's okay.

I did want to get out of my head, my routine, my reality. But damn, if this is my reality, then everything else is a bad dream! I came to that glowing realization many times.

How did I deal with the anxiety? Every thirty seconds I swear I thought to myself, "yer doin yer damndest". Which was 110% true. I absolutely did. Being gentle with myself, tender and understanding, having my own back was the best thing I did for myself though. Being my own homey. I don't take that experience for granted at all.

I'm happy to be back in reality (even though I can't work and my self schedule is so fucked). I gotta get back in the game. Unfortunately, holiday season is here and that is the dead season for sex work. I'm trying to stay positive though. I'm going back to Boston in a few weeks and I am going to spend that time networking with providers out there, and I guess researching the market out there and whatnot...

(I just wish I'd get fucking paid already!!!! Everything is covered in a shadow of uncertainty and anxiety).

Trying to assuage my pathologized sexuality, torturously analyzed.

Closing my eyes and feeling feeling feeling real real real for the first time in such a long time.

This partner was better. They first presented me with a watercolor strongly resembling a television character close to my heart.

Zucchini bread and marijuana.

"its my time coming, I'm not afraid to die"

i came here on my bike in the sunshine, i purchased six grams of marijuana, i had to get out of the house, i was too sad for bed.

prostitutes in history: from parables of pornography to metaphors of modernity

adulteresses, mistresses and prostitutes: extramarital reationships in medieval castile

from venice to jerusalem and beyond: milic of kromeriz and the topography of prostitution in fourteenth-century prague

just writing the titles down makes me feel better.

i wonder what these men have to say.

i just want to be closer.

quae corpore quaestum facit: the sexual economy of female prostitution in the roman empire

'pleasure's golden bait': prostitution, poverty and the magdalen hospital in eighteenth-century london

gender and civic authority: sexual control in a medieval italian town

holy harlots: prostitute saints in medieval legend

the origin of prostitution in ancient mesopotamia

i wanna be better smarter brighter i wanna know more and then more and then more

the topography of prostitution in renaissance ferrara

priestly wives: the role and acceptance of clerics' concubines in the parishes of late medieval catalunya

the prodigal's journey: ideologies of self and city in the gothic cathedral

"lesbian-like" and the social history of lesbianisms

prostitution in ancient india

christine de pizan and the 'menu peuple'

'whether from reason or prejudice': taking money for bodiy services

the pure and disciplined body: hierarchy, morality and symbolism in france during the catholic reformation

a cell of their own: the incarceration of women in late medieval italy

complicitous laughter: hilarity and seduction in celestina

taking nellie johnson's fingerprints: prostitutes and legal identity in early twentieth-century london

'a hue and a cry': medieval rape imagery and its transformation

the chapel of the courtesan and the quarrel of the magdalens

a corpus for the body

masochism as escape fromself

from prostitution to transsexuality: gender identity and subersive sexuality in dacia maraini

down and out and female in thirteenth-century paris

the whore holds tight the doldrums, swims in the megrims.

you cant get over everything in an instant, nor should you.

my face hurts from crying. crying just now, crying twelve hours ago, i woke up with fresh-salt-blindness

put your cool wide palms over my eyes, press the soft parts onto my brows and lashes

wipe up the tearspring from the corner of each eye

won't you please?

poor melancholic whore is menstruating and cannot see her favorite, who coincidentally will not kiss her for fear of falling.

poor menstruating whore does not know if her explicit elixir is the desired one

sad crying whore who cant hide, even under inches of blankets. sad whore crying in confusion.