Cambridge Girls? Meet the Sex Industry. . . .

Last night I wrote of my initial foray into the world of "exotic dancing" (a euphemism I always found rather silly. I stripped. I didn't "dance exotically." I bumped, ground, and did suggestive things with a pole; I don't consider these things exotic). Well, hot after posting that entry, I discovered a month old (10/10/07) article from the UK's Daily Telegraph about some of Cambridge University's young women:

Some female students are working as call girls and lapdancers, while several
hundred students or former students are said to be signed up to a single
escort agency.

One student is reported to have been a £50-an-hour prostitute in the city who slept with between 40 and 50 men in a two month period during her first year at the prestigous university.

She told a university newspaper she had met other students doing the same.

There's something telling about the cost of a university education when even young women who attend one of the world's most prestigious, hallowed insitutions turn to the sex trade in order to make ends meet. When I began, however, I was the only college student on the circuit who also danced. At the time, I felt like a walking urban legend: we all hear about the girl who strips her way through college, but how many of us know her? Anyways, just a news item to share.

Aspergers Quiz

While digging around trying to learn more about Asperger's, I found this quiz. My results:

Your Aspie score: 174 of 200
Your neurotypical (non-autistic) score: 40 of 200
You are very likely an Aspie

Funny. Of course, this is, in no way, a diagnosis. Quizzes like this are too general and are too open to manipulation by the test taker (e.g., if you have an idea of what the "right" response is, you click it). But it is a yardstick of sorts--I know I'm not way off base by exploring the possiblity that I have AS.

I've been trying to work today, but I can't focus. It seems as though every time I settle into my subject, a firetruck or police car goes screaming past my window with all sirens blazing. It's a lovely fall day, though. So when I get distracted (too often), I just drink my coffee and look out the window at the vari-colored trees. Nice. Especially with my iPod's 13 hour jazz playlist on in the background (hardly necessary information, butt here you go). It's a Robert Frost kind of day.

We decided not to travel to see me family for Thanksgiving or Christmas this year. I need to spend that time working. Neither of us wants to engage in the family drama and all the free floating anxiety that accompanies any holiday 'do. We can't afford--emotionally or financially--a Christmas away from our place. So here we'll sit in our pajamas watching bad television. Bliss.

From Library to Adult "Bookstore"

I had a hard time holding down jobs as a teenager. I was a dedicated worker…I did whatever was asked, and I did it to the best of my ability. But I was a bit too “off” for my coworkers and, often, my employers. Loud and abrasive when I wasn’t being peculiar and stand-offish.

I had one temp job in high school that was arranged through the school district--one of those programs for low-income youth. I was placed in the local public library, which I absolutely loved. I worked for two women, both incredibly kind to me. One of them gave me a ticket to see Carmen at the local opera house (I love opera. My first experience of it was seeing Faust on a field trip with the “gifted” class). I only worked there three months (it was temp after all); they gave me a set of a necklace and stud earrings shaped like a unicorn when I left. I loved them, and I loved working at the library (I was left alone to get on with my work in a quiet place).

My second job was temp as well; I worked for a blustery insurance agent who terrified me. He didn’t do anything to scare me deliberately, he was just …blustery. I seldom saw him, though (I came in after school and he’d have cleared off for the day).

I was fired from my third and fourth jobs; once for continual lateness (although I’d told them right off the bat that my transport between school and work would cause me to be ten minutes late on weekdays). I was let go from the following job for stealing. I have no idea how that came about, but it had something to do with a missing role of dimes ($5.00). Someone decided it was me wot did it. So out I went. I’m not surprised, really. I wasn’t a companionable coworker, I was a tad strange with my introversion and extreme attention to details.

I was fairly depressed after this second firing, and a bit scared about trying to get another job. My resume wouldn't be too appealing to a potential employer. I was 18 at this point, and just beginning college. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my future.

One day I was reading the classifieds in the paper and saw an ad for dancers. So I went to the business that was hiring (on the slightly seedier side of town) and requested an application of a man who sat behind a massive, u-shaped desk (but with right angles).

I filled out the application, showed him my identification card, and he hired me (no interview; I actually expected one. Hah!)

The desk manager pointed me towards some lingerie the place sold and told me to choose something; he said I would pay for it out of my “tips.” I picked out a short, soft, magenta tunic/slip that wasn’t too revealing. I was unsure about what I was doing--that is, I didn't quite realize what I was embarking on. That didn't stop me.

The man at the desk told me to come back at 5:00 pm to begin my shift. That was that.

It’s so odd to think back; when I initially went in to apply, I didn’t think I had a “real” chance, I thought of myself as unattractive in face and figure. I thought the desk man would shoo me right back out the door. However, as I was to learn, no matter how unattractive you might think you are, you can get hired by a strip joint.

No Memories Fluttered Out

I opened a book of poetry today, and a dried, red scab of a thing fell out. It was a rose petal that I’d stuck between the pages years ago; I don’t know why I placed it in the book.


I’ve been seeing a therapist regularly; well, for two weeks anyway. Two sessions. I’m unsure about her; she seems kind enough, but it all seems so awkward. We’ll see how it goes for another month or so. I don’t know. We talk about current things rather than the past. I don’t want to go there with her just yet.

My Nerves Are Bad Tonight. Yes, Bad. . .

I have a trapped nerve in my neck/right arm. It’s not good. I’ve had difficulty working for the past week. Woe. Alas. Etc.

In other news:

After a few weeks of being “good” with drinking, it’s back with a vengeance. That is, I’m back on the bottle with a vengeance. Part of this is because we had a friend staying with us this past week, and he’s a heavy drinker. I’m not saying he’s forced me to drink too much wine (two hangovers this week), but his presence made an easy excuse for myself. The thing is, I’m not serious about quitting drinking. I don’t really want to quit. I like it. I just don’t like how I get carried away with it. Last week, while watching Dexter, I experienced some discomfort as the eponymous character attended an NA meeting. He called his addiction "The Dark Passenger." I'm not sure that title applies in my case. It's no passenger. . .it's me.

Anyway.

More On the Asperger's thing. The clinician I spoke with the other week got back in touch with me (it was a follow up to our meeting; I hadn’t told her about my little foray into contacting one of the therapists she’d recommended). She knows of a therapist who is interested in exploring AS with me. I am happy. I’m not looking to get some official diagnosis; I just want some help figuring things out.

To those who have reached out--thanks.

Black Ice on the Head Trip

This has been quite the week. Following a twenty-year boycott of therapy and therapists, I "reached out," as they say.

I visited the university’s counseling center trying to get the ball rolling on this Asperger’s thing--I just want to investigate the possibility that I’ve got this condition. So I spent an hour with a young clinician. A nice young woman who listened and responded rationally. Then she gave me a list of resources outside the university. She gave me three names that I duly Googled.

One recommended name belongs to a kind of hypnotherapist (no way. I spent several of my teenage years with a hypnotherapist who convinced me I was way more unloved and unwanted than I was. She told me my mother had wanted her first baby to be a boy, so I was being punished for being a girl. A bit fucked up, no? I stopped seeing her after that business).

Another recommended name belongs to a well-qualified fellow who specializes in “educational testing” and men’s psychology. Um, guess that one’s out then.

The third recommended name seemed promising enough, so I phoned her; her phone went straight onto voice mail. I left a name and all. She phoned me back not twenty minutes ago. In an extremely rushed exchange, she pushed me to set up an appointment immediately--tomorrow afternoon. When I asked her if she didn’t want to know why I wanted to meet with her, she paused. So I explained there was some minor depression, some anxiety, some family and social issues, and I was interested in exploring Asperger’s.

Silence.

“Well, you know Asperger’s’ got a lot of press lately.”

Silence.

“I can’t help you. But thanks for calling.”

Implication: I’m attracted to the hot new disorder / syndrome / whatever. I hear about something “new” or "glamorous" in the news and jump to self-diagnose. Well, I’m not like that--not typically, anyway. My mother is like that. But on reading about AS--everything seems so right. My long-term partner has read AS materials and agrees. My office mate has read the same AS materials, and she agrees. . . . I can't be totally delusional here.

I've been advised to try the psychiatric department at my university. The problem there is the department prioritizes students who require medication. And I don’t want medication. I just want grounding (does that make sense?). Besides, I think that the uni’s mental health facilities should prioritize undergraduates. They go through such hell--especially the freshmen. I feel guilty absorbing any of their time.

So, I’m unsure as to what to do now. Do I keep trying? There seems to be no one local who knows about Asperger's other than “it’s in the press.”

Maybe I am just going for easy answers. Lord knows, every time the head-health people tried to stick something on me (bipolar, depression, schizophrenia, etc.) they were wrong. I’m likely just as wrong as they. Just paint me angry, frustrated, disappointed, and rather lonely as hell right now.

More on Asperger's; a "Genius" thing

I’m still thinking about Asperger’s Syndrome, so tonight I phoned my mum. After the over-enthusiastic “Hellos!” were out of the way, I asked her how old I was was my IQ was tested, and what the result was (I wanted to confirm--can't always rely on memory).

“You were in fourth grade, and you hit 159. Why?”**

So I told her about my investigations into Asperger’s. Supersmart kids, inadequate social skills, obsessions about arcane/obscure subject matter, etc. As soon as she heard me out, she rushed to tell me she’d experienced social isolation too. She admitted that she’d always felt superior to others (like that was a bombshell), that she didn’t always get along with people, and that she has problems with logic (whatever that means; when I asked her for an example she avoided answering).

I wonder though.

I realize that the whole IQ thing is approached with some trepidation--too many environmental factors and so on. But I’m just realizing that, at eight years of age, I was considered “genius.” Nobel Laureate type genius (five point below Mozart’s theoretical quotient), and one point below the minimal Einstein guesstimate [although Einstein wrote that he was “145” Ha! The ‘umble AE]).

But is the IQ thing all bullocks? Might I have "lost" my “genius” by not "using" it? Is it dormant, or is that "genius" still “at hand”?

I fear thinking of it; if I begin to believe in the IQ thing, I may very well be setting myself for some hubristic comeuppance. It's easier to play dumb.

**After I was tested, I was placed in an experimental class for "gifted” kids. I’ve written about that experience in an earlier blog.