Long Time No Blog

But that will happen when one's universe
experiences a mild upheaval.

Have you ever wanted to be a little insect,
green and jeweled quite nicely,
on the wall
and overhear the conversations of your colleagues and friends
when they happen to be talking about you?

(Well then, think about looking into government jobs
under the current admin. at 555-)

I became a tiny lime-green spider yesterday and discovered
just exactly how my colleagues view me:

I'm a blusher.

Apparently, everyone find this fact not only quite amusing
and entertaining, but also perhaps a bit endearing. Pat on the head.

Arg! I don't want to be a blusher! I hate the feel of burning ears.
My chest and neck flushed pink. Who would have guessed that blushing
would have been the gossip about me? Blushing?! What about my rage
against society?

So, I suppose they have all sat around and theorized
as to the reasons/sources of my blushing . . .
one particular person I blush with at every encounter
must, on some level,
suspect that the blush is a sexualized response--but no.
The seasons of my blushing could never be reduced to sexual attraction,
because from what little snide comments friends, students, and colleagues
have said in the past, say six years, I am viewed as completely asexual.
This perturbs me in unexplainable ways.
I mean, partly, mostly, it's true. But still.

For example, when I was getting my hair trimmed last weekend,
I told my hairdesigner about the interview.
She said, "Sure, and the haircut is going to make it."

"I dunno, maybe I'll wear a lowcut. Should I be hot?" I asked.

She lost it. Looked at her friend through the mirror, over my head, and laughed.
As if I could not be hot?
It's like I'm a fricken stand-up comedian
when it comes to my sexuality.

I blush. What a fatal flaw.
An incurable, fatal flaw.