the old gray [phone sex] mare ain't what she used to be

my readership is declining and I don't know why... am I too happy? do I have too much to look forward to and this bothers you all? history would tell us that the odds are against me.

my French boss has that typical snide and condescending nature known to his race and he casually reminded me of the mortality rates of long-distance relationships. quite frankly I'm inclined to believe that the distance is what will keep me sane. keep from pulling any 'personal-space' acts. keep me from testing his boundaries every week. keep me from flexing my nuts every time he inches towards a boundary.

17 years ago the cicadas were out like they are this summer but I don't remember that - I went through a divorce that summer then moved to Vermont and I wasn't lollygagging looking at fucking bugs.

I lollygag these days though. the critters are everywhere. trees are crusted with them. they blur the sunset with their amber wings and they obstruct twilight with their bloody-murder screams. thier carcasses crunch under my Chucks everywhere I walk and thier clumsy landings often place them on any skin I have exposed. but I think they're beautiful, and I'll miss them for the next 17 years.

(I know; there's always some brand of cicada chanting for sex in the summertime...)

the expanse of my lower back is cicada wings; that's how much I love them.

and in 17 years - when they come again - I'll think to myself: "now it's been 17 years since I fell in love with Michael..."