Remember the whole little surge of libido I felt a while back? It has so disappeared. I mean, not really- but it got shut down and put out of business, but entirely.

The part that has one very-far-away part of my psyche all in an uproar is how little I care.

I have this friend that I have known from online and phone calls for years. We get along really well, and we�ve always been interested in each other. It�s nice; because he�s really smart and what he likes about me are the things that really make me myself. Like what I say, and what I like, rather than how I encourage him or help him with his life. That�s why everyone else likes me. I am the mirror that their reflection looks best in. This is not really something I have a problem with, except for when the people I am involved with never stop looking past the reflection of themselves.

And as interesting as that whole phenomenon might be, it�s beside the point. We can look at it again later sometime.

So with the Professor, he really wanted to start talking to me frequently on the phone. Several times a week, and that would be nice- he�s fun to speak with except that he really likes to have my whole attention.

Like that happens.

My bedtime, and the kid�s bedtime is pretty concurrent. That is to say, my 5 year old�s favorite place on earth is right on top of me. It�s not that she is needy, that one. It is because she is greedy.

So after not being able to orchestrate even one phone call without interruption I gave up.

And now, without me noticing until today, I guess when sugarts was so hilarious in her speaking of the sexy details of things, I apparently have dismissed sex from my thought process entirely.

So I either really don�t care, or I hate disappointment with such a vengeance that I am subconsciously avoiding any lustful notions.

I think it�s the former. That�s really sad.

It would be so fun to plan a funeral reception for my sex life. We could all dress in chic black, smoke cigarettes in holders, wear heels and discuss the long and lush history that my sex life had when it was alive.

The estate of my sex life will gladly accept any tribute. The flower of preference is the dandelion.