Burnout!

In the land of Lusty, we must be wary of many things. Beware of cheapskate custies that want to cram 3 or 4 guys into a booth only to save themselves from having to spent an extra dollar. Beware of custies with cameras (which, by the way, are strictly forbidden in the theatre) who will try to run off with a naked picture of you. Beware of walking to your car alone at night. If it's an issue, be sure that every Lusty, new and seasoned, has had the point beaten into her head. But the cardinale warning, the one thing which is practically guaranteed to effect every Lusty at some point: Beware of burnout!

While most of us love our jobs, our co-workers and our customers, it's not enough to save us from occasionally feeling consumed by the sex industry. There are signs posted in the dressing room warning us to watch out for it, even a poster with specific examples for how to combat the evil monster. I don't know when exactly it happened, how it crept up on me with such stealth but here I am, fed up, exhausted and completely burned out.

It kind of started occuring to me last week when late nights at the Lusty coupled with the 9-5 job I have 3 days a week caused me to be away from home for two days straight. Thursday I worked from 9-5, took a mandatory class from 6-8 and then started work at the Lusty at 11, closing at 3 am. The next morning I went to my day job again from 9-5 and then started my shift at Lusty at 8:30, closing again. On Saturday, when I was finally back to my own bed, I slept into the late afternoon before I worked again at 6:30. Rhys picked me up at 11 and we went out for drinks with a friend. I felt fine drinking beer and hanging out. I was going strong and enjoying my company when last call came and they turned the lights on. We walked hand in hand to the car, me drunk as a skunk. At some point, Rhys says something in passing about stripping, something innocuous, something I have no memory of, something that really shouldn't spark a nervous breakdown. But within minutes I am sobbing, wondering why I bothered with college at all, why I thought working a job that keeps me away from home for days at a time was a good idea, wondering when I will ever feel like an adult. After my hysterics in the car have ended, we are finally home. I am ready to crawl into bed and let sleep do the job that the alcohol was supposed to do and make me forget about all of this. But Rhys insists I take off my makeup. This seems odd to me but when I concede and get a look at myself in the bathroom mirror I understand his insistence. Running from my right eye, down my cheek and spreading across my throat is a very unattractive black tear stain. I have to laugh; goth teenagers would kill for this kind of realism. I wash my face and finally climb in bed.

Since that night I have quietly endured my burnout, always quite aware of its presence but unsure what can be done about it. While the bulk of my income does not come from stripping, its addition to it is completely necessary right now. I would love to take some time off to regroup and remind myself why I love working as a Lusty. A year ago I would have told my mother about this and she would have insisted that I take a break while she supplemented my income. As guilty as I might have felt, I would have accepted. But what excuse do I have any more? This chaotic schedule is the bed I've made and now I must lie in it. This is real life and in real life the rent is due on the first of the month.