When he said, “The sun is up,” he expected her to reply, “It’ll get dark soon.”

Which she did.

In the gulf between their words were all the bridges that they’d found and built, burned and lost, and began and never finished, the metaphor for them.


Cyberfloof (floofinition) – Any activity involving a computer and an animal, especially housepets.

In use: “A cyberfloof isn’t a pet that’s using a computer to commit a crime (although many animals seen in pictures and videos on the net often steal our hearts).”

“Cats and dogs often turn themselves into cyberfloofs, sitting on keyboards, or blocking monitors, because they’ve noticed that this other creature is stealing their human’s attention.”

The Hated Dreams

I hated the dreams that I had last night. All were about being overlooked, forgotten, or ignored. All featured others being given promotions, honors, and awards.

Little surprise was experienced as I reviewed the dreams. I’m sliding into the dark side of my spectrum. Haven’t visited it for almost sixty days – or, more likely, it was visited and overcome. This week, though, I heard the dark side spitting and hissing at me, felt its snake bite sometimes, etc. Coping with it – fighting is the wrong thing to do (for me – your needs probably vary) (unless you’re me, of course) (and if you ARE me, what the hell are you doing out there?) and its impact, I felt myself losing the battles. Part of that is being forced to socialize more – ’tis the season (ho, ho, fucking ho). Socializing drains me faster than an old car battery with the lights left on (but it’s expected, why don’t you want to see friends and have fun?  Why must you be like this? Oh, sorry, when I made this choice, I didn’t look at the entire menu, or I would have gone with something else. Sure, it’s all that easy, because life is binary, black or white, innit? And it’s all within our control.) (Bah, humbug.) (I should coin that.)

Well, to me (and these dreams), I said, fuck you, too (yeah, original – I should  be a writer). I know what’s going on. Can’t quite shrug it off so much as cope and swore, whine and moan, and remind myself, this shit will also pass.

Coffee, stat.And maybe a scone, too. Comfort foods. It’s that time of life.

Thursday’s Theme Music

A flashback morning took place. Had an early morning appointment down the highway. I avoid early mornings and appointments. I don’t mind getting up as long as I can leisurely sip coffee, read, goof-off, and dress. If you force me into the shower and clothes early, I’m a recalcitrant beast.

Did that for years. Military periods in command posts in the winter meant I’d go into the building before dark and come back out after dark, a day without sunshine. Marketing years meant hitting the road for early flights, slumbering and working on planes, and then into a rental car to hunt my way around the city. Meanwhile, there was always The Commute, the buzz along highways filled with like buzzing drones, racing to our work hives like frantic little bees.

So being in the car on the road before sunrise (which isn’t that early, between the time shift and time of year) (so, setting the stage with more specific info, this was 7:30 AM), zipping through rain and lumbering along with other traffic (what the hell is going on up there? Why aren’t we moving?) made it seem like old times.

Radio selection helped turn it into a jumpback in time. When “Roam” by the B52s hit the air, I cranked it up and motored like it was 1989. ‘Course, it also reminded me of Ricky Wilson’s passing (1985, 32 years old), kicking in reflections about what age is considered acceptable to die? I concluded, we’re all going to die, but that doesn’t make it okay, at any age, for any reason.

Yeah, tilting against death, nature, etc., It’s a quixotic mission.


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