Comfloofatorial (floofinition) – Of or relating to the operation on, arrangement of, and selection of discrete animal elements belonging to finite sets or making up geometric confloofurations.

In use: “Although comfloofatorial possibilities are considered and employed when animals decide where to sleep, addressing aspects such as exposure, sunshine, warmth, and security, food — especially treats — offerings tend to shift animals’ strategies.”

Jimmy Eat Floof

Jimmy Eat Floof (floofinition) – American hard floof rock (flock) band formed in Mesa, Floofizona, in 1993, whose music is heavily influenced by the early floof punk (flunk) sound.

In use: “Jimmy Eat Floof’s 2001 song, “The Floofle”, with lyrics reflecting the band’s struggles, ended up charting well in the U.S. and gaining the band international recognition, providing them with the breakthrough which they sought.”

The Unlocked Doors Dream

I was in a city. Busy, busy, busy, I was trying to take shortcuts to get from one place to another.

As I rushing along, I saw an MG TC. In beautiful shape, I was familiar with the car, and was aware that an elderly man owned it.

What the hell, I thought. I’ll take that. Then I’ll return it to him later.

The car was cream-colored, it’s top down. It fired up immediately. Off I went. The drive was magnificent. Its smooth ride amazed me. Driving on residential streets through autumn weather, I encountered no traffic, stop lights, or stop signs. It put a smile on my face.

As I arrived at my destination, guilt and worry struck. How was I going to get the car back from here? Why did I take it? What’s wrong with me? He’s an old man and that car is his treasure. He’s going to worry about it.

Another man came along. As though aware of my thinking, he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll get the car back to him and take care of it. Go on.”

I was reluctant; this didn’t seem right. But the man had already taken the car and was gone.

I turned and went on, entering the building. Inside was a cypher-lock door. I entered the combo but it didn’t work. Others were arriving. No one knew the cypher code. “He must have changed it,” I said. Finding a phone, I called to get help, dialing extension 2884, which used to the telephone extension used for U.S. Air Force command posts around the world. Whatever base you were on, if you called that extension, you could reach the command post.

I dialed it but the door was unlocked as I did, and then an old friend opened the door from the other side. He said, “I saw you on the monitor and came out to let you in.” As we entered, I headed for ‘my’ door. “Oh, no, my door is unlocked,” I said with worry. “All the doors must be unlocked.”

“No,” my friend said. “I just unlocked your doors for you.”

The dream ended.

Image from Sorry, not my car.

Friday’s Theme Music

I was riding a good cycle yesterday — write, read, exercise, check news, do other net things, play games, do chores, repeat. I’m reading Red Rising, an entertaining science fiction book while I navigate writing my own novel. With both hands functioning, I’ll write and edit six to seven pages a day, but the recovering left hand tires easily.

As always, reading — especially fiction — stimulates my writing. Also, my to-read list is piling up. After this is finished, I have Sansom’s Tombland awaiting on loan from the library, and Who Fears Death, and a stack of others.

Chores are always there, kitchen cleaning, vacuuming. We have three cats, males, who seem to be amazingly dirty, dragging bits of the outside in and gifting us a hairball.

Then news. Elections. Debates. COVID-19. Wildfires. Weather. Local issues. We’re mulling a move from the area, so we check places on line and think about the challenge of moving. A constant flow of information to absorb is flowing through the day.

In the middle of this, my brain decided to stream, “If You’re Gone” by Matchbox Twenty from 2000. Not unusual; my brain often likes to distract me with remembered news, music, or historic facts. Sometimes the roots to the why can be traced, or they’re readily apparent.

Not so, this time. Worse, it graduated from being a casual inner streaming distraction to a full-blown earworm. After burrowing in, it quieted for the night and then resumed this morning.

Urgent action required, I’m sharing “If You’re Gone” about Rob Thomas meeting his future wife with you to compel it to leave my head. It’s worked in the past.


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