07 March, 2004

mixed signals

Once again, the world changes....

My hair moves, he's touched me again.

Or something.

I'm posting bios on the wall, he's peering over my shoulder, reading the dummy copy I did for my own:

Cybele Pomeroy, Playwright, Assistant Director
Cybele likes to write, serves as Secundus to CJ's Premius, goes three days at a time without brushing her hair, and rarely wears colors because she can't be bothered to match things for outfits

I couldn't justify writing more, as I was busy writing dummy copy for all the cast and crew who failed to turn in or send one on their own, hoping that whatever weirdness I threaten to include in the programme will prompt some response.

He reads the bit about not matching outfits, and wonders aloud whether that's why I wear silver, gold, copper and brass all together, instead of segregating my jewelry by metal type.

Flirting with me shamelessly all the while.

Which is contradictory, because I thought only gay men were aware of shit like that.

As I brushed Ginny's hair (this is not a non-sequiter), she said to me, "I so miss being touched. I want that. I NEED it."

Know what you mean, Gin. I do.

No comments: