I just want you all to know, I had a deeply religious experience the other day, and I finally feel ready to talk about it.
Monday morning, I came home from spending the night at my boyfriend's, kind of bummed out. We had taken some pictures, because that's what we do, but they didn't turn out very well - I hardly liked any of them. So I woke up feeling discouraged, and came home, and just got even more down. I started thinking about becoming a Suicide Girl, and how much it irritates me these days to get messages from people asking me why I'm not an SG yet - I'm sure everyone means well, or is genuinely curious, but seriously, folks. It wears on a gal. But I started thinking about how difficult it was, getting pictures taken, and having them be of a quality that I felt would be worthy of submission to SG - and how standards are going up, and it hit me that I probably don't have much of a chance anymore unless I find a professional photographer. And how unlikely it is that I WILL find a pro in this area, or close enough that I can drive there for the shoot and back in one day - because that's all my current budget and work schedule would allow.
It made me really sad, because being an SG is something that I really want. I can't describe why, really, but I want it, and thinking that it might never happen because of something stupid like that is just so fucking depressing! And so I said to hell with it, why put myself through this rottenness anymore, I'm quitting. I told myself I'd just stop visiting the site, stop posting, stop taking naked pictures. I decided it wasn't worth it, not being able to achieve that goal.
So I went to work, two hours early because the gal before me asked nicely if I could, as she'd been having a bad day. About a half hour before my shift would have begun, I glanced up from where I was stocking coffee creamer to see a young man walk in the door. He was dressed in drab olive-colored pants and shirt, with leather suspenders. When he saw me, he blushed a little and averted his eyes, and I thought to myself,
"This guy is uncomfortable that a woman is working."
He went to the bathroom, and soon came out, and up to the till to pay for his gas. "Having a good day?" he asked bashfully.
"Oh, I'm certainly doing my best," I replied, as I always do when a patron asks such questions.
That's when it happened. "For spiritual encouragement," he said, laying a pamphlet with Jesus on the front of it on the counter. Being atheist, I made no comment, took his money, and he left. That's when I really looked at the pamphlet.
What the fuck?? Look at that damage!! Who the fuck designed this? You couldn't have gotten that badly damaged if you were at the mercy of a psychopath in a Japanese horror flick for three days. Intrigued, I opened the pamphlet up, to discover the mystery of who killed the Jesus.
Golly, really? My hand? I'm the Japanese psychopath? Fuck, I always knew something was wrong with me!! What can I do to make it all better? How did I get this way, that I can do all that to Jesus and not even know it??
Oh, I see. Sure, that makes sense. I get ya.
...
So I finally managed to get my breath back, wiped the laughter-tears from my eyes, calmed down my coworker and assured her I was not going to pass out, and resumed working. After that moment, everything became alright. Because I realized this one truth.
God loves me, and wants me to be naked. Because for every whack-job that has the balls to pass something like that around, there needs to be another whack-job that needs to post naked pictures of herself on the internet. This was his way of encouraging my naked spirit to trust itself, and defy all those silly people that think I'm hurting people by being as ignorant or uncaring of the wrongs of my nudity as Adam and Eve first were.
And yes, my loves, I will post pics from the other night, even though I'm not happy with them. All in due time.
