Floofmate

Floofmate (floofinition) – 1. Animal or human’s position during an interaction which stops the other from moving.

In use: “The cat employed love eyes, a loud purr, and air biscuits to pin Rosie to her chair (with him on her lap) and gain floofmate.”

2. Animal or person who is a companion to another animal, or an animal who accompanies a person.

In use: “Scooby the little Yorkie and Loki, the big black cat, were constant floofmates, not just to one another, but to Beda, helping her in every aspect of her life at home, always there, no matter what was going on, unless it involved the vacuum cleaner.”

A Writing Dream

I fell asleep in bed thinking about a scene. Those thoughts immediately transported me to a dream where I was at a desk, trying to type. I then rose from the desk and walked to the other room to get coffee. A noise distracted me, drawing me down a hall. The hall was considerably darker than the rest of the house, skinning me with edginess. I was questioning who was in there and whether it was safe to go down the hall. I looked for a suitable weapon but went on without anything.

Coming out from the other end of the hall, I was outside. Across the way, I saw three people. Two confronting a third. I took a few steps toward them, then halted with the realization that I was witnessing the scene I’d been writing. I moved closer to them, trying to hear, and then shifted. Suddenly, I was more akin to a camera, focusing on one person, moving in on close-ups, then flashing to another as the conversation bounced around.

At that point, I started awake. After parting my eyelids to anchor myself, I snuggled deeper. Darkness enveloped the bedroom. I was warm under the covers. My trusty sleepfloof, Tucker, drew up and rubbed his head on my exposed hand. I kept lethargically petting him, floating in and out of sleep and the dream, writing in my head, and writing in the dream. When I awoke this morning and remembered that, the sheer level of writing overwhelmed me. I’d completed that scene and go on to three others. The effort spent me, though. Trying to type it up, it all burst in on me. I typed fast, hanging on to words and moments, straining to keep up.

My brain feels overwhelmed. I need more coffee.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

A stick, a stone, the end of a poem, the beginning of the day, the end of the night.

Hello. Welcome to the new, improved, Wednesday, now with better flavor and new packaging.

Today is November 17, 2021. Last night’s temp dipped to 32 F under clear skies. By sunrise at 7:04 AM, it was back up to 41. But with that rise came a stout series of winds jostling the trees, rattling the windows, and urging the cats, get back into the house. A high of 56 is in the cards if we play them right (yeah, like we can do anything, right, but hold onto the cards as the wind tries blowing them away) before sunset at 4:48 PM.

“They call me the working man, guess that’s what I am,” was bubbling through the morning mental music stream today. Don’t know why the Rush song from 1974 has been called up. I’m not a working man; if anything, I’d call myself a non-working man, a label I attached to myself way back in…well, 1974, when I graduated high school. It might be the guitar solo that sprang to mind. It’s a pretty nifty turn by Alex Lifeson, the Rush guitarist. I’ve always enjoyed the group, but again, sadly, we lost the drummer Neil Peart, last year, and the group says they’re done touring.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and booster when you can. Stay healthy in general, and keep pressing forward. Here’s my coffee — hot and black — and the music. It’s a ‘live’ version found on the net that entertained me. Enjoy. Cheers

The Boost Jab

My wife and I received our boost jab yesterday.

We’d been trying to get it since approval came out. As J&J was our initial shot, we desired a Moderna booster. CDC and studies showed that improved our level of protection. Finding the Moderna booster was easy; making an appointment was more challenging. While several sites claimed they could do what we needed, their actual processes failed to meet the promise. Calling was like chasing snowflakes in a storm. We did call 211 to see what the state could suggest. They couldn’t hook us up either. Exasperating.

Then, we read on NextDoor that the Presbyterian Church was giving the boosters. They included the phone number. I immediately called and we were slotted in. The program isn’t being done by the church, but by Wellness 2000, a corporation contracted by the state. The church, less than a mile from our house, was the venue. This church is always doing great things for the community, from helping to feed the homeless, to opening their doors during the winter to provide them a safe and warm place to sleep, to opening their church in the summer, when the smoke is a health threat. I’m not a member of their congregation, but I applaud their approach to community.

My appointment was for 12:05 PM yesterday. My wife’s was five minutes later. I arrived at 12:01 and was immediately greeted by two women at a table. They processed me, updated the paperwork, then bade me sit until called. 12:03, I was called. 12:03, I was done. Impressive organization and efficiency.

The shot, given by Beth, an RN, was so quick, it left little impression that I’d been jabbed. After waiting fifteen minutes to confirm I didn’t have a severe reaction, I waited five more minutes for my wife, and we were finished.

Twenty-one hours later, I feel great. The injection site aches. My arm complains about being raised above shoulder level. That’s all I feel.

My wife feels the arm issue, but she’s also complaining of nausea and mild congestion. She does suffer an underlying condition, RA. I hope she recovers quickly and easily. Fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I feel fortunate to have gone through this so painlessly. Hope others have an experience like mine.

Cheers

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