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I take a respite — but did I actually quit stripping?

I haven’t gone to work since the night of the police raid. It sort of prompted a vacation that never found an ending like a catnap from which I never awoke. I rarely work during the week because of school and I got sick over the weekend, so I didn’t work then either. Sometimes I just feel sick when I’m getting ready for work like my body knows we might be able to make an excuse to avoid being in that dreadful environment. Certainly it’s only psychological but it still doesn’t feel good.

Anyway, I was actually sick on Friday and stayed home in bed all weekend. I literally never saw sunlight until Monday afternoon. I’m not working this weekend either. At this rate, I may have just quit stripping and not realized it. What if I just never go back? I could begin talking about stripping like it was that funny thing I once did. One day it will be that job I had years ago. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness” I would begin saying as I recounted my strip club anecdotes to my grandchildren. As I’d sit in my rocking chair reminiscing, my quick and hypothetical grandchildren would ask me questions like “Grandma, will you stop talking about getting naked? And why are you taking credit for Charles Dickens’ words?”

I don’t suppose my bills will pay themselves so I’m sure I haven’t hung up my stilettos for good just yet. I guess I’ll just keep enjoying my vacation for however long it lasts.

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