Good morning fluffy little bunnies & other assorted woodland creatures.
I am awake. It’s 7.43am. I’ve been awake for 5 hours or so, because apparently my life is accompanied by a laugh track & I’m a source of eternal amusement for some tricksy spirit or low level god, just going on the frequent occurrence of things that are only really funny if you imagine that you’re actually a sit-com comedian & someone is getting a good giggle out of it.
As I sit here blinking blearily, I am contemplating whether to get up and use the 9 shot coffee pot, or the 6 shot coffee pot, and in fact whether I’ll stop fucking around on my phone for long enough to make any coffee at all before I realise I’m running late for circus.
I have class today, and I have dance choreography to learn for the big spectacular next month. I’ve also got to memorise my trapeze routine, or at least take the written down version with me this time – I forgot to take it with me last week & I didn’t even have the excuse of sleep deprivation then.
I decided on the 6 shot pot. Fingers crossed it’s enough to get me through todays shenanigans.
After circus, I have a dinner date with an old friend, at a place I used to frequent far too often back when it had sticky carpets that went shluk shluk as you peeled your foot away from them, back when it was a safehaven for all of the youths who were avoiding the ever judgey normals.
I’d cram myself into one of the booth seats, elbow to elbow with aspiring musicians and artists, hospo workers, other sex workers, a random selection of hippies and punks and goths, a barmaid who would trade me free vodka & raspberries for putting her favourite songs on the jukebox, & of course the ever present purveyor of disco biscuits who lived upstairs & could be reliably found at the back bar.
It was a home away from home, even though I am not much of a drinker & would usually either leave very early, or else have to be carried out by my friends at closing a wee bit the worse for wear.
It was, very unfortunately in my opinion, gentrified. They have a dress code now. I used to go there in fishnet shirts with only tape covering my nipples, and doof pants with flares that totally hid my bare feet. They were made from old chenille blankets by a local designer named Trish. God I loved those pants.
At one stage I refused to wear shoes for a couple of years unless I was wearing heels at work, because when I wasn’t at work I was mainly at the beach or doing acrobatics in the parks around Newcastle. Did I still get into the venue? Of course I did. Here, have a blast from the past, baby hooker Lani circa 1999/ 2000.
And now it’s a quarter of a century later, and one of my very fancy mates, someone I look up to both literally & metaphorically, will be staying there, maybe in the same room that my ex flatmate who abandoned his dog at my house lived in after he took off.
When I met said fancy mate, I was feeling pretty fancy myself, I was still masking heavily. I was in my more polished era, zipping around the country in big planes wearing very expensive lingerie, denying my working class roots, faking a bougie accent, keeping my more questionable thoughts & opinions locked behind a face that I could still use to hide my thoughts & feelings.
I’m different now. Better, as far as my health & self awareness goes. Less concerned with maintaining a carefully curated image, more concerned with authenticity & respecting my own limits & boundaries rather than trying to score the highest marks for charisma & charm that I can at any cost. I know the cost now, and it’s too high.
I feel like this is a litmus test of some kind. I’ve rebuilt myself from the ground up after a pretty complete collapse of my sense of self. I feel more put together now than I have in years, I feel more grounded & complete & purposeful than I ever have in my life. I like me, and I think I’m still a vibe.
Having said all of that, this friend is brutally honest & if I’ve been kidding myself, I’m sure I will be told. I haven’t had an opportunity to reconnect in person with a lot of people I knew while I was touring, except for the golden lady I mentioned earlier in the year, and I don’t think she was being particularly honest with me.
I’m glad that I’ll be spending a good chunk of today concentrating on not falling off of the trapeze, because it means I won’t be hyper focusing on whether or not I’m still capable of being a delightful dinner companion with scintillating wit & titillating tits – dinner dates were genuinely one of my favourite booking types, but I’ve been prioritising my health & not taking evening bookings so it’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten dolled up for a public outing – there’s a bit more to outfit selection if you have to actually cover your arse.
So wish me luck, if all goes well I may get added motivation to stop getting up at the crack of dawn & start making myself available after dark… only if you promise to feed me though
Lani xx
