The Prostitution of Words

Thoughts that Won’t be Pimped

Photo by Jan Szwagrzyk on Unsplash

I won’t force the words, regardless of how much they may be worth. I won’t pimp out my thoughts. Not here. Not now. Not with you. Not anymore.

Should I write every day? Could I write every day? Can I get paid by the word? I can. I do. But I won’t in this space. You and I both deserve better.

Getting paid is nice, but I’m not here for your money. I’m here for the space to scream. To reach. To syphon energy.

It’s been a week of trying to outrun myself but it’s not working. I’ve made every appointment I could think of — dentist, doctor, hair, nails, bloodwork, x-rays. I’ve chomped down on freelance articles — the real estate ones that I can use AI for but still consume my time, energy, and mental functions. I’ve read three books this week alone. Gobble, gobble, gobble. If there was overtime available at work, I’d have snatched that up, too.

Meanwhile, in a far, drastic, dramatic contrast to my OCD perfectionist lifestyle, there are dirty dishes in the sink. I haven’t cleaned the floors. I didn’t make my bed today. Quite frankly, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Nothing is pretty in Wendiland right now, in spite of the $300 I spent on beautification.

Speaking of spending money, I also just spent another $300 for a Tempurpedic…

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Wendi Lady - It's a Wendiful World

Wendi deep-dives through words into realms of spirituality, vulnerable self-discovery, self-awareness, personal development, empowerment, and mental wellness..