The defeminisation

As I put on my big comfy boots and wrestle with the idea of putting on a dress or not, I finish a phone call ‘catch you later, man.’ The dress can wait another day, the attempted flirtatious advances from the boy down the road ignored and the music plugged in, Nirvana or Portico Quartet? Were the high postured smiley walks down the road a thing of the past, the hair rearrangement with that special passer-by gone? I don’t know, I’m just walking down the road to the shop, o look the sea in the distance, that’s nice. Why bother about menial topics such as turning on my sex vibe? I’ve got my friends, my work, my mind. What seemed to occupy my sense of being has dissipated into the past like an enjoyable mystery gone silent. Although, I noticed it this morning as I put on my mascara that on some sub level, I do care still, just, I feel completely defeminised by this town. Rarely am I compelled into instant attraction, like I was so before, that I actually did something about it. Must sound like some awkward single cry out for help, though more it’s the enquiry as to what the hell happened? Is this defeminisation or disinterest? I still practice the feminine routines, in self-pruning, a healthy level of vanity and an awareness of sexuality. Though males do this too. I just focus a lot more on other stuff, though in the process have misplaced something somewhere. My male friend comes in ‘I should start knitting, that would be amazing.’ Hmm, maybe there is some sort of sexual distortion here.