I know I’ve been gone, but I’m back now – I guess I’m just “gone” to a different set of people, somewhere else. It was a good leave of absence: when I left I was intermittently wondering if being a prostitute would be an easier profession. “Can you honestly tell me that I’d feel dirtier if I were compromising my body and my innards were intact versus what I’m doing now, where my physical body is fine but I feel constantly emotionally cheapened?” I asked my boss. “That’s it, Lola.” She wrote a slip. “Take a month off, and for heaven’s sake center yourself.” I took the slip, nodded, left.
“Oh hey,” she called out after me. “I can’t honestly say you’d feel dirtier. But I can’t in good conscience recommend that as a life choice.”