Ground Score Diaries
By Jesse Dekel
When we learn about a colleague’s death, we generally don’t need to know the circumstances to know it’s a violent one. I’m not necessarily talking about the kind of violence that ends up on a true crime podcast or the front page of the Journal de Montréal. Although these stories do exist, there are often multitudes of them that are never talked about; deaths that occur after a series of traumas and injustices; a series of month-ends, filthy apartments and crooked landlords; a series of closed doors, access counters, and waiting lists. Death by despair.
I recently lost a friend. There are those friendships that are made amid struggle, and there’s something different about them. You know that no matter what, there will always be that common experience connecting you. That’s how it was with Jesse.
Our first interaction was at a meeting of the Sex Work Autonomous Committee. Back then, it wasn’t called that. In fact, the project didn’t yet have a name. Melina May and I had put out a call for mobilization, and this was the second meeting we’d organized. We didn’t really know what we wanted to do, and I don’t even know if we believed in it ourselves. We had a bit of impostor syndrome. But now we could say there were three of us, and that counted for a lot!
Jesse wasn’t afraid to speak up for SWers. She didn’t do it because she loved her job, but because she wanted to organize with her colleagues to improve her working conditions. She didn’t care about charity; for her, we had no time to lose. We had to be political if we wanted to make gains that would improve our lives!
I remember the first action we organized with SWAC on May 1st, 2021. It was she and I who led it. We were speaking out against the curfew, the total lack of consideration for SWers during the COVID-19 health crisis, and the repression. Jesse confided in me that it had been her happiest day of 2021. She continued to get involved despite her return to New Zealand during the summer of 2021 and the 18-hour time difference.
The last time I spoke to Jesse was the day Carole Leigh died. Carole Leigh was the first person to define herself as a sex worker. Jesse had posted in her story a photo of her encounter with her a few years earlier when she was living in San Francisco. I had replied to her story because I was impressed; to me, Carole Leigh was a legend in terms of hooker activism. I’d asked Jesse if she wanted to talk soon. She said she was going to Auckland that week, but we could call the following week. In the end, she and Carole Leigh passed away the same week.
I think we must remember when we lose people. I think one way Jesse would have liked us to honor her life is for us to continue the whore resistance and not compromise.
A few weeks before she passed, Jesse sent me a manuscript of her diaries from her time in San Francisco. She wanted to publish them. I told her I’d give her a hand with proofreading and sending it out to publishers. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time. So I’m taking the liberty of publishing a few excerpts here.
Adore Goldman
05.12.18
Sleep was shit, I kept waking up uncomfortably, and frustratingly at every move.
Early in the morning, I left Angel’s apartment because she had to be somewhere at 8, and I took a bus to the HSRC. I got there at 9, and Rose was late and came at 9:50, instead of 9:30, so I just sat down looking at dog shit for a while.
The Cole Street Clinic is this incredibly overt friendly LGBT friendly place, with a crapload of free snacks (of which I helped myself dearly), and the most patient staff. Unfortunately, I am not patient. And I spent a total of like 3 and a half hours there, sitting in various waiting rooms, and saw a total of 3 doctors and case managers.
I talked about everything case managers usually ask about. Being homeless, suicide attempts, drugs, being undocumented, etc. There was a lot of talking. I did a urine test, and a TB test (finally), and checked my weight, which was something around 149 pounds/67 kgish. I guess I’ve gained 5 kg since I got to America. Being homeless means being well fed, or I’m just over-eating because of the scarcity of available food? I don’t know. I still had to do the urine STI test even though I told the doc about my lack of sex. Ugh.
Eventually, I got the American prescriptions, and a new sleeping med prescription because Zopiclone is non-existent in the States, or something.
I was there way too long and spent so much time fucking around on Shazam, it was so boring and stressful. The case manager printed out 50 pages of my medical record. Euggh.
Because it went on for so long, and I had a job interview at 2, they called a Lyft for me, and I got to my interview at New Door 5 minutes early.
New Door is like a hip, trying to be youthful, cool place-zone-area. The interview mostly consisted of really personal questions (confidential, don’t worry!) about legal history, drug history, etc. Super weird. I answered them all. There’s a two-week stipend-paid orientation starting January, and a follow-up interview next week. So that means I think I ‘got’ the job, though I think everyone does because it’s literally an unemployment program.
I walked straight to the San Francisco General Hospital, which didn’t help me at all because I have no travel insurance, and then walked to a Safeway, where I was told my concerta would cost $600 USD, and my hormones $120. Fuck. So I left after trying to call my travel insurance and failing to sort it out.
I’m so frustrated with this all.
I ate at a shitty sandwich store and bussed to the Haight to go to the Homeless Youth Alliance needle exchange because I wanted a sleeping bag and fentanyl strip tests. Luckily, I bumped into Rose, who took me to Sonya. I was so happy to see her. I like her so much. She’s so great. I really like the way I feel around her. I ramble. She’s fucking great.
Afterward, I headed to HYA and got the fentanyl strip tests, sleeping bag, and snacks. I asked about hormones and was taken to a nurse/doctor room thing, and told about some resources from a couple of really helpful people who were really supportive. I’m exhausted by how nice people are to me. So much niceness.
I left and walked around looking for a sidewalk to crash on. Some dude, Randy, told me there’s a rule where we can’t sleep/lie down until 11 pm. He also had this joke. What’s the difference between Medford’s tea, and a bottle of piss? They’re both a bottle of piss.
Medford is this German guy who gives out food to homeless people, including tea. What a sweetheart.
I found a little alcove in front of a kitschy storefront and across the street from ‘The R Tours’. This is where I lie in my blue sleeping bag and sleep on the sidewalk.
I had dinner at a taco shop and brushed my teeth/washed my face/did my nightly routine in their store bathroom.
I will sleep on the ground in my warm, blue sleeping bag.
06.12.18
I woke up multiple times in the night, the first time to go on a tempered, agile, pee mission. And the second time, to pee on a tree 20 meters away from my sleeping bag.
It was a nice sleep except for that.
When I woke up, I didn’t need to get dressed obviously, so I just bussed to Tom Weddel’s place. Some Russian guy (by his self-proclamation) ranted to me and was super racist, so I argued with him. He also said he gets all his free money + stamps through SSI (Social Security Insurance) and made a weird comment about New Zealand’s meth.
I waited almost an hour at the clinic, even though I was the first to arrive 15 minutes before opening because I am an idiot and didn’t go to the right place. I met a couple of doctors, Shannon and Doctor Zabin, the latter who sorted some hormone stuff, and wrote a letter for me to give the SF General Pharmacy about signing up to SF city insurance or something like that.
A doctor gave me a bunch of fentanyl strip tests, and Doctor Zabin asked me to learn how to administer Narcan, a drug given to people overdosing on opioids. So another nurse took me to a room, and gave me a quick demo and explanation, and gave me Narcan, and registered me as a Narcan carrier on the database. So now I have a bunch of clean needles in my possession, fentanyl strips, and a tab of acid.
We tested a tiny sliver of the acid for fentanyl. I put on gloves and cut that sliver off with teeny scissors. Luckily, there was no fentanyl, and I am just a crazy person.
After that, I walked to Thomas’ apartment and picked up my contacts, and the bag I was storing there. He had a friend over, who told me about some trans and undocumented persons’ resources. I used his bathroom to brush my teeth etc, left some items to donate, and then headed off to the HSRC.
I ate lots of food and talked to Sonya and Rose. Camila offered me a job as a youth representation during an intern interview, paid via gift cards, and I accepted. So an hour after closing, I stayed back and participated in an awkward yelly interview, which mostly consisted of people questioning the interviewee about whether she had ever been homeless and if not (not), how would she be able to relate and connect with homeless kids. There were lots of neighborhoods repping and posturing. It was uncomfortable. I asked the obligatory ‘do you have any transgender friends’ query that I was probably brought in to ask, and she said no.
I got my gift cards and talked to Camila, Rose, and Sonya about the Jazzys shelter. They may have a bed tomorrow night. So I’m meeting Sonya at 10:30 am at HSRC tomorrow, and heading to Jazzys. I’m thinking about getting into sex work. It sounds like a good way to make money in my position, but I don’t really know. I talked to Sonya about it, and she said she doesn’t recommend it but can provide me with good resources, should I decide to.
So I decided to go to the SF General, and Angel said they are open till 7 pm. I got some laundry money and took a half-hour bus there. Angel was wrong. They close at 5 pm. It was 5:20 pm. So I decided to go to the SF LGBT center because I thought it would be open. I was wrong, the youth program closed at 6 pm. It was 6:15 pm. So I headed to the Contemporary Jewish Museum and spent $5 for an exhibition. It was pretty nice, there was one of a Jewish tattoo artist called ‘Lew the Jew’ and one on Jewish clothes. There was also an embroidery workshop, and I embroidered a gold thread through a flower.
I accidentally stole a bunch of food from a private event. I had no idea it was a private event until I ate everything. I feel kind of bad about it. I think it was a retirement party for a sweet old Jewish lady.
I decided to stay at a hostel. So I went on Agoda and booked a $30 night at Amsterdam Hostel. Walking there, I saw a massive line in front of Gamestop. People waiting for the new Smash Bros game, Super Smash Bros Ultimate. I got to Amsterdam Hostel and excitedly jumped into the shower until I realized it’s fucking broken I couldn’t even use it as a bath because there is no bath plug. So I used the lower bath tap while lathering soapy water on, and splashing myself upwards for like 30 minutes. It was fucking stupid. Ugh. I’m stupid.
12.12.18
I feel so fucking tired of all this shit. I went to the HSRC today yada yada yada. Talked to Sonya.
I printed off some resumes that were tailored to hospitality jobs and dropped them off at a couple of places. We walked by an art exhibition of blot sheets and saw some Alex Gary-type murals on them.
We hung out at the LGBT center, and I played Fire Emblem and watched Blue Planet 2. Then I headed to St. James Infirmary. The sex workers’ infirmary. I met with a harm reduction counselor, who I talked to about hormones and sex work. I am so lethargic, and my right nostril feels rough and sore, for seemingly no reason.
I got to the St. James Infirmary and took the elevator to the 4th floor where I checked in with a receptionist and filled out a bunch of forms. After that, I waited in a social room where some gay Robin Williams movie was playing, and there was free food and clothes with a ‘you try it on, you keep it’ policy. I grabbed a couple of croissants and a ‘non-store’ food bag. Someone complimented my necklace, and I talked to a worker about the new Smash game. People were nice. I was given a number to wait (54) for my doctor/counselor, and after 15 minutes or so, she came out to get me. The door to the meeting space wouldn’t open, so she asked me to go sit back down and came to get me again a few minutes later.
She asked me all about what was going on. “You’re undocumented, trans, trying to get hormones, and homeless”. She said it was going to be really tough in San Francisco. Really tough. She warned me.
I asked her how to get into sex work and she told me. She asked if I was scared, and I told her I was scared of the cops catching me and deporting me more than anything. She said that wouldn’t happen. She told me to ask for cash upfront. And to always be nice. I need to dress up. And wear heels. And a mini skirt.
We talked about access to hormones, and she said that I should probably just pay for them. She also told me about where I can go to find sex work, and what to expect in terms of rates, and what to do. She told me what to wear, and how to get clients. She said that I’m young and trans and that I can sell that. I just need to work.
I asked for sex worker resources, and she asked me if I have ever done sex work before. I said no, and she told me all about it. She told me what to expect, where to go, and how to make sure I get paid.
She gave me heels, and her card and said “I worry about you.” and “I hope this city doesn’t swallow you up.” and “But you can do it.” She is a 60-year-old trans woman from Australia who worked as a showgirl in Vegas in the 80’s.
I left feeling lethargic and couldn’t get Google Maps to work properly so I walked after failing to find the 2nd bus stop.
I feel tired and stupid and shit. I can’t write properly. I keep making mistakes. Nothing is changing. I just want to play video games all day. I don’t want to be here. I am sick of this place. I don’t know what to do. I have no motivation. I hate this all. What am I supposed to do??? I hate this. Should I leave? This reminds me of when I was homeless in Wellington. I thought to myself “I’m struggling so hard to find a place here, but I don’t even see why this place is worth it. I hate it. It’s not so special”. That’s what I’m feeling again. Why the fuck am I in San Francisco?
09.03.19
Today, I finally continued my e-payments account verification and tried out camming.
It was really difficult at first, but slowly, after broadcasting for an hour in total, I got 11 viewers at once. People would comment saying my lips are sexy, and DM me. One guy became my ‘room moderator’ for a while, and gave me advice on ‘teasing’. He sent me a GIF of him stroking his cock. I really liked the attention, and honestly was semi-hard the whole time, despite being fully clothed. I got out the fake plastic DUREX practice penis [stolen from the doctor’s office] and blew it. I only got 1 token, which is 5 cents in the hour, but I had two offers to meet older men, one in exchange for $200. I liked it a lot, and I need to get better at it. I have to learn how to properly use apps and bots, for my broadcast to function smoothly. I’ll try tomorrow.
Turns out I didn’t even need to verify my e-payments account and could have started earlier. I guess Monday. Fuck.
I really fucking like the sexual attention. I have never felt desired before.
One person joined my chat room and asked me how many inches I am. I replied saying I use the metric system, and he left.
Fun fun fun.
Other than that I mostly just watched anime, and worked on a ‘Top 10 Places To Cry’ joke article. I wonder if it will actually get accepted.
At 4:30 I left for Haight Street and checked out old action figures at Amoeba Records.
I bought a yellow long-sleeve mesh shirt for $10 at K-POK and talked to Frankie and Drew who were sitting at a spot nearby.
There is this really cool art exhibition of tiny baby CRT TVs running anime footage on loops at the Red Victorian. I want to make something like that.
I returned to the house and watched Berserk Arc 1 with Kat and Antoinette while sharing a fruit granola smoothie, and pizza. The movie was average compared to the 1997 anime.
Afterward, I studied HTML online for a while, and talked to my cousin Guy, wishing him happy birthday.
I am sick, and my lips are sore. I had a dream where I tried to memorize music and a comedy concept. There is something in my eye. I’m lonely except when I’m not. I’m sad except when I’m bored. I’m bored when I’m not stressed. I’m busy when I’m not organized. I’m a boring, stressed walking contradiction, with nothing to offer in a timely manner.
I canceled all today’s plans because I am a piece of shit, who sucks in terrible ways.
I need to study. I need to read. I need to write. I need to relax. I need…
Tomorrow I might buy a Nintendo Switch. If anything, it will give me things to write about. And jerking off for strangers online who compliment my titties’ potential to ‘fill out’.
I like sucking on the dildo-looking thing and looking salacious. I want people to want me. I hope I can get money because fuck, what I am doing being homeless. Ahhh… everything is weird, fuck.
I am an ugly regressive freak. I am hideous, I am disgusting. A gremlin. Ugly. Ugly. Freak. Gremlin.
23.03.19
This morning, I had my date with Kat. I think it went pretty well. We sat and talked at Coffee To The People for a couple of hours, and then walked up Haight. Checking out stores as we did.
I bought a zine DIY guide from Silver Sprocket.
The only thing that was off was when we passed by some Dirty Kids, like Misha, and Kat asked if I ‘volunteer’ with them. Which felt kind of condescending or something. I’m not exactly sure how to articulate this emotion/response. I still really enjoyed her company, and she’s very cute.
I jokingly said that her leather shoelaces were ‘very gay’ and she told me how she finds that kind of comment weird. Ahh.
I do like her though, and want to spend more time with her.
We went to the taco restaurant off Belvedere, but at 2:30 pm-ish she had to leave because her HIV-positive friend’s viral load was really high, and his nurse wasn’t there to help him.
After the date, I went home. And at 6 pm, I decided to go to this comic book store closing party/sale. It took 40 minutes to get there, and the place was packed full of obnoxious, loud American nerds standing in front of the comic book racks that I wanted to check out.
I ended up buying a Saga enamel pin that was 50% off for a total of $5. Then I left. The event was anxiety attack-inducing, and I didn’t see any comics for sale that I was interested in.
After that, I bussed to a McDonald’s that was also peak full and I gave up. Then I bussed home.
I watched a couple of episodes of Jojo, and at 11 pm I began broadcasting on Chaturbate.
In total, I made $32.25 worth of tokens. This guy named Al joined my chatroom and was dropping tips. At one point, he sent me his phone number and eventually convinced me to call while blocking caller ID.
I started talking to Al on the phone. He is a 35-year-old electrician who lives in Santa Clarita, and his birthday was March 17 or 18.
He only likes girls and said a lot of nice things about my lips.
I added a password to my broadcast, and he paid me tokens as I stripped and touched myself.
I had phone sex with him, while he jerked off.
After pretending to ride him, and do a couple of different positions, I masturbated until I came.
After that, he jerked off until he finished, and tipped me a total of 625 tokens, I think.
Good stuff. I am a sex worker.
The first time, I made 1 token. The second time, I made 100 tokens, and this third time, I made 625 tokens. I’m learning, hopefully.
07.04.19
This morning following 2 cancellations (one from Bualia, and one from that dude Dan who I met at Comix Experience), I decided to try to display and do tarot readings. At 11:45, I went on Haight to where Peaches, Curls, and Catfish were, and sat down facing a storefront with my display.
I was at it for 2 hours. Two crust punks came to ask if I’d seen their dogs and then were total jerks. One bought a pin off of me for 30 cents, and the other demanded a free reading followed by them both tag-teaming to lecture me on how to do readings. They stamped my sign, even when I asked them not to. Assholes.
I wrote (Hebrew) reading $5 on the sign, which in grammatically incorrect Hebrew transliteration means ‘butthole reading $5’. I made $7.32 in total. I did one reading. It sucked.
I gave up at 2 pm, and spent all the money I made and more on a slice of pizza, an Arizona, and nachos.
The two dudes who go around bare naked with those chastity things on walked past us. I told Curls that I’d spange them as a joke, and I did. “I don’t have any change on me. Where would I put it?”.
After that, I went home in time for a community meeting feat. pizza. I said that the house is fucking hot, and Cocoa teased by saying that it might be my hormones and asked if I was going through menopause.
Earlier in the day, she said that there was a drag show that we were invited to last night, but I said that I was “Incredibly high on cocaine” so couldn’t go. She laughed.
I watched Jojo, and at 9:30 pm went back out on the street. Peaches was tired, so went to crash, and I saw Toast. I went to a corner store to buy a fizzy drink and a man near me kept swearing/talking to himself loudly. I didn’t buy anything, and when I walked out after this guy, the store owner screamed at him, telling him to give back a can that he apparently stole. Toast told him to give it back, and the store owner told Toast to “Kick his fucking ass”. The guy said that it’s harassment and threatened to call the cops. Toast told him to “Get the fuck off of my block” and counted down from 5. A bus stopped because this guy was in the middle of the road, and then he banged on its door and said “Let me in, this guy is telling me to get off the block right now.” The bus let him in, and as it drove off, Toast ran with it and slapped the window yelling “I knew you’d listen. Bitch!” Wild.
Fuck mentally ill people? This world. Sucks. Fuck.
What a waste of a weekend.
At home I cammed, and the guy from Santa Clarita came back on my broadcast, and I phoned him. We organized a private show at 30 tokens per minute, in which I got naked and jerked off, but didn’t cum. He spent around 500 tokens on me, and when he ran out, we ended the call.
I finished camming after that.
Gaaaaaaaaah. Surely I can do more than jerk off and watch anime? No? Probably not then.
At least I got to do cocaine.
01.06.19
This morning I went to the Castro to sell a couple of books at Dog Eared Books, and to check out the historic gay synagogue Sha’ar Zahav. All the services were over at the temple, so it was a waste of time, and I only made $4 from the books.
I went home, and then at 5 pm, I went to the DSA office for the Socialist Feminist sign-making event. I got an email this morning from Lia saying that they nominated me as one of the new socialist feminism co-chairs, but obviously, I’m not going to do it if I skip town. So the whole sign-making event was awkward, as I didn’t want to bring it up.
I made a whole bunch of pins with the badge maker and signs that read “Sex Work Is Real Work” or “TERFS and SWERFS Fuck Off”, and had lots of fruits while I was at it.
Christian from the ILWU said he was going to a ILWU party, so I invited myself and took the 33 to the Mission with Lia. I told them that I’m going to Montreal. It went well.
I got to the Hilton hotel where the party was at 8:30 and met Kevin and this other guy from DSA. We went in, and I was instantly surrounded by the ruling class of rich liberal Democrats.
This fancy rich lady dropped a couple of prongs on the floor and walked away, so I told her, and she went back to pick them up. Hehe.
The party was really uncomfortable. Everyone was so rich, and I was so out of place. So much old money. Kevin and the other guy went with me to the fucking YIMBY party upstairs, and the security guard stopped me, asking if I was “at the right place” (regarding my attire), so I told him yes.
That party was fucking obtuse. There was a very impressively plastic surgeoned lady speaking to Kevin about how Bernie was trying to ‘whore her out’ or something, and the whole crowd of rich fucking yuppies made me want to vomit.
One guy lectured me on how trickle-down economics/housing equity is connected, and I wanted to cry. I was so out of place, and a bartender asked me to take off my bag because I knocked some serviettes off his table. There was free wine though.
It was so high in the tower, and the weird environment got boring. I went back downstairs and met Jennifer from the Tenants Union, and Kate-Mary from DSA. And Xavier from DSA. We went to a liquor store, and Jennifer bought me Anchor Steam beer. Then we headed to the Moscone Center on Howard and the 4th.
At one point, when I was leaving the YIMBY party, this DSA East Bay person in an elaborate transport system-themed dress decorated with political pins talked to me in the elevator. Also occupied by yuppies. I complained about being uncomfortable surrounded by rich people, and they said it’s an important skill in politics. Guh.
We got to the center and went to the Bernie 2020 party. Bernie Sanders had just left the conference. We drank, and I met up with Jen Snyder.
We went to a nurses’ party for free food and beers, and another party for the same. I got drunk, and Christian told me to email him about NZ sex workers’ unions, so he can talk to Bobby from ILWU about unionizing sex workers with this helpful info.
Jen Snyder and this political consultant Jim, and I fucked around and drank a lot. At one point, this liberal in a ‘Ruth Bader Badass’ shirt gave me shit for my ‘Nazi Punks Fuck Off’ shirt and said he didn’t think there were still Nazis, and that American History X was just a movie.
We got more drunk and laughed at the middle school prom playlist playing. Eventually, we got kicked out at closing time, and I saw the dude running against Pelosi who befriended me. He said he was reading poetry at the Mission and had vegetables thrown at him until he smoked weed with the throwers.
Jen got us a Lyft to the Haight, and I walked home from her house. What a weird fucking night.
03.06.19
Yesterday was the first day during the almost 7 months I’ve been in America that I didn’t write in my journal. It feels sort of shitty, but I’m also happy that the shtick went on for so long, straight.
So I guess I’ll just recite the events of the last two days.
Yesterday morning, I woke up at 9:30 and didn’t have enough time at all to shower, so I just put on my clothes and bussed to the DSA office to meet Lia so that they could give me a ride to the International Sex Workers Day event held at Oscar Grant Plaza, in Oakland.
Jay was there too, and we all loaded Lia’s car with DSA shit and drove to Oakland.
The event was great. I noticed that I had a big ass smile on my face half the time, and I just fucking loved feeling as though I was part of a community. I am a sex worker. I’m one of them. They are like me. It feels to me as though freelance sex work is lonely work, and community is hard to find, but being surrounded by all these fellow sex workers was so communal, kind, and caring.
Carol Leigh, aka Scarlet Harlett, the person who coined the term ‘sex work’, interviewed me about how anti-sex trafficking laws are oppressive and screw over sex workers, as well as lucrative multi-billion dollar businesses for Christian reactionary NGOs.
I gave out the sex workers’ zine at the DSA table to passersby and ate lots of bagels, strawberries, etc from the Coffee Not Cops stall.
After the event, Lia gave me a ride to Mission and 24th, and I had McDonald’s, then skated to the 33 bus stop at 16th and Mission. The bus took like a half hour to arrive, and I only stayed home for a minute before heading off to the St. James Infirmary fundraiser gala.
I was let in the fancy as fuck gala, that had security guards and ‘mixologists’ in tight shirts, and when Jay arrived, we snuck into the actual $200 ticket gala area.
Jennifer Holliday from Dream Girls sang, and it felt like a movie. Christina Aguilera was there too apparently.
Back downstairs at the after party, Molly and Eugenica, whom I met at the sex workers’ day event, showed up. Jay left, and as I was getting pretty wasted, I was invited to an after-after-party in a hotel room.
A group of us took Ubers to this fancy as fuck hotel, and Molly kept buying me drinks. One with olives in it, which tasted awful.
We headed up with the group to a hotel room, where we drank, and people snorted cocaine in the bathroom. Molly said “You’re really cute. Do you want to kiss a little bit?” and I said, “I’m really sorry, but no”. We then all got kicked out of the hotel room by management for some reason, so we just went on a weird little pub crawl that I really don’t remember much of. Just drinking, peeing, and Molly holding my hair as I vomited in a toilet.
Molly called me a Lyft home, and at like 3:30 am I got there. I passed out immediately in all my clothes, without taking my meds or writing in my journal.
So that was yesterday.
This morning I woke up with a horrible headache and a huge overall hangover. I vomited into the toilet, and at 10, had a meeting with my case manager Kristina. I told her that I had a migraine, and I had my head in my hands in pain for the entire time. The meeting only lasted 15 minutes, and I went back to sleep afterward.
At 12, I had my doctor’s appointment with Dafna and I vomited in the toilet once more. So hard that I cried. I told her about falling off my skateboard, and she ordered my refills.
I headed to the HSRC after that and gave out stickers that I got from the sex workers’ day event. A 90s cartoon was playing on YouTube, and I ate pasta, to satiate my disgusting queasiness.
I left and went back home to sleep. I was so fucking hungover. Christopher dropped off the new house keys, since we no longer have day staff, and can let ourselves in. Fucking cool.
Alice got home, and while in pain in bed, I asked her to Google the symptoms of a broken chest. All the symptoms match up, except pain when touching. It hurts so much. I wish I mentioned it to Dafna. Hopefully after therapy tomorrow, I can see a doctor.
We ordered Burger King, and I spent most of the day napping. I watched the end of Leave No Trace, which I started on the plane ride here, 6 months ago. What a cliffhanger.
I think the hangover is ending. I’m sick of feeling so damn shit.
What a weird two days.
1. Probably refers to the Haight Street Referral Center, a drop-in center for homeless youth in San Francisco. ↩
2. Tubercolosis. ↩
3. New Door is a non-profit organization offering employment programs to San Francisco’s youth. ↩
4. Homeless Youth Alliance. ↩
5. St. James Infirmary is a peer-based non-profit organization serving SWers throughout the San Francisco Bay Area. They are the first occupational health and safety clinic in the U.S. run by SWers for SWers! COYOTE members, the first sex workers organization in the US, like Margot St. James and Priscilla Alexander, founded the clinic. ↩
6. Gay neighborhood of San Fransisco. ↩
7. Democratic Socialist of America. ↩
8. Probably referring to the International Longshore and Wharehouse Union.↩
9. Referring to “Yes In My Backyard” as opposed to NIMBY – “Not In My Backyard”. Jesse saw both of these tendencies as gentrification tactics, but YIMBYs had a more pervasive way of dealing with homelessness in gentrifying neighborhoods. The YIMBYism movement wants to tackle the housing crisis by rezoning and increasing the supply, failing to view the class element of the housing question and reducing it to supply and demand question. ↩