Twitter interests me. “Part messageboard and part water cooler” (according to Vivian), it’s a powerful if unorthodox media tool. It was the first place I heard about the Kink.com layoffs. It was how I got news last week of a friend’s death.
I credit Twitter with facilitating my acquaintance with Graydancer, to the point that he let some strange blogger chick sleep in his room at Dark Odyssey with his rope. (I’m pretty sure he could take me in a fight, but … the hemp! That shit’s expensive!) And that turned into an amazing weekend. I reconnected with friends, went to classes (which I usually can’t be arsed to do), played hard and often (haven’t in months), and tried flesh hooks for the very first time.
Why so amazing? Well, I’ve been having a rough time, and it’s been hard to talk about that. Even to say I feel healed implies, falsely or not, that I was broken.
But hey, I’m back! I write, so I might as well post. I do play with egotistical bastards who like to see themselves flattered on the Internet. [ducks] I have no reason to hide when I’m microblogging right on my sidebar. And I finally have something nice to say.
With Twitter and its “what are you doing?” ethos, I’m working on the difference between action and identity. Sex work is what I do; it’s not who I am. This year, to the amusement of friends and strangers on Twitter, what I’m doing is stripping — and blogging it from the dressing room. Maybe next year things will change again. But whatever I’m doing right now, I know I can’t fit it into 140 characters.
