Redemption?

From what? Working a job that you don't approve of. A job that is perfectly legal and nets me much more than the "respectable" job I had last year, where I made 1,800 a month. What am I? A fallen woman? Fallen women are just women outside of the control of the realms of men.

I might have to talk, flirt, and dance on those sub humans. But I go home alone. I go home to peace and stability.

Even though that my "good" job had health insurance, I was living paycheck to paycheck. I couldn't afford to use said health insurance because of the out of pocket costs.

At one point I needed a diagnostic mammogram due to "suspicious" lumps in my breasts, that have been studied off and on for 20 years. The out of pocket cost for the mammogram was $400. I would literally have $13 left in my account right after getting paid and paying bills. I scheduled it and everything. Woke up that morning, rolled over, and decided I would rather die than owe another doctor 400 bucks.

Don't worry the mammogram has been done now. Qualified for assistance, when I no longer had a "respectable" job with health insurance. Of course, everything was normal. An oncologist I use to fuck told me as much. Doctors just don't like to be outranked. Pissed off my obgyn when I informed her during my yearly.

Some people go into certain "helping" professions because they prefer the word normal to boring. You don't care. You crave control. You don't enjoy helping people. You enjoy money and prestige. Pay attention to your own life. Or is it hollow and empty? What about your own family. Get a cat. Adopt a dog. Pay attention to your own self.

By the way, it may not seem like it, but working at a strip club, is choosing myself for once. The world runs on money. I need money to survive, just like you do. And no, there is no amount of budgeting that is going to claw my way out of poverty when I'm making 16 a hour.

And no, I don't want to be a teacher. That's another helping profession. People just call you a glorified baby sitter and say you whine about how under paid you are. I've already survived a kid bringing a gun to my first grade classroom, when I was one of his classmates. Don't care to relive that experience.

Fuck you. Fuck your care. Fuck your concern. I am not your child. And I am not your patient, thank God.

You know what stability is? My fridge being full of food. It was empty when I was at my last "good" job. My 2012 car needed repairs recently. Felt real stable when I was able to do that. I have my friends, my cats, my family. I adore my coworkers. I have never felt like I belonged so much at a workplace before.