The trouble with writing a memoir when you're young is that most of the people you write about are still alive. If they'd only die, you catch yourself thinking, I could say whatever I want. I really don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but on the other hand, what's the point of doing this if you can't be honest? Maybe there's a middle ground, a line you can walk, or a place you can reach that is both discreet and candid. I don't know, but it might help if I could be just as hard on myself as I am on other people. If I could get past the inane--"my main fault is that I'm such a perfectionist"--and tell you something really bad. I claimed to be scrupulous in my business dealings, but I said nothing about my personal relationships, and I'm afraid that in that regard I was less than admirable. I broke some hearts. I squeezed all the money I could out of guys who otherwise bored me to tears. I quickly lost interest in anyone who couldn't help me. I had no friends. I liked being left alone to shop or decorate. I enjoyed the company of others only when I was the admired center of attention.
So what? To paraphrase Rousseau, being bad is much easier to admit to than being ridiculous. He said that, as I recall, in the context of telling us how much he enjoyed getting slapped on the fanny by a woman. In other words, to really be honest and fair, to treat myself as I propose to treat others, I should admit my embarrassments and humiliations, my longings and experiences that are painful to me and that damage rather than feed my ego. And maybe I should do that first. Tear myself down. Forget all this strong woman shit. Leave behind all the times I lied and cheated to get what I wanted. Focus instead on what really hurt, what really made me feel worthless and dumb and ugly, on times I wish I could forget. That says a lot already, doesn't it? Despite what I said about not wanting to hurt people's feelings, my conscience never bothered me. Maybe I don't have one. What bothers me is losing.
I was going to write about Second Life Amsterdam today, before I got sidetracked. That and other haunts of whores I know about. I never got any business there, but Amsterdam is the place to start. At any time of day or night scores of women are there looking for clients. Some just stand around. Others announce to everyone the particulars of what they offer. It's a big open plaza, and all of us stand facing the spot where clients appear when they leap to the site. We maneuver a bit for a better position. The women always outnumber the men by at least ten to one. From a distance it looks as if a crowd has gathered around some spectacle. A performer, maybe, or a dead body.
That wasn't humiliating to me. I rather enjoyed it, truth be told, and would have spent more time there if it didn't have such a bad lag. I'll continue tomorrow with SL whore sites, unless of course I'm more in the mood for one of my digressions. Or unless I can think of just the right way to punch a hole in my ego.
No comments:
Post a Comment