I like thinking about it from this perspective.
Copyfloof
Copyfloof (floofinition) – An animal who mimics others or who does everything that they do.
In use: “Many kittens and puppies become copyfloofs for a while as the learn how to be by duplicating Mom’s behavior.”
Sunday’s Theme Music
My body and mind are not happy with ‘springing ahead’. “Why’d you do that?” they asked about setting the clocks ahead. “We was perfectly fine, wasn’t we?” Grammar is a little weak between them.
Today is Sunday, March 13, 2022. That’s right, Sunday the Thirteenth. Bad luck for some. Not a good day to spring ahead with our clocks, as we did. Not much fun with these digital critters, either, you know, the kind where you must hold a button in to advance it, and if you miss, you have to keep going until you come around on it. Like, “Here it comes, get ready to let go. Too soon, too soon. A little more, a little more.” That’s on the house thermostat and the cars’ clocks. I punch in the numbers on the range and microwave’s digital clock, then stand there, watching my Fitbit, waiting for its digit to change, then punching the ‘Set Clock’ buttons on both devices while shouting, “Now!” in my head. So much work for a worn-out idea.
Sunrise came after seven today, because, you know, clocks, at 7:25 AM. It’s a dreary sort of rainy spring day, 45 F know, going up to 52 F. Had a lovely one yesterday, although it got a little variable. One minute, it’d be so warm in the sun, people be busting out of their jackets, sweaters, and sweaties, while the next minute finds them pulling them all back on. Up, down, go zippers, searching for the sweet spot. Wasn’t to be found.
Sunset arrives after seven, 7:16 PM.
I was out walking in the pleasant weather yesterday. The neurons did a songdance that summoned a 1971 Rolling Stones song called “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”. It’s a very rock and roll song of the kind hitting the vinyl in the late sixties and early seventies. I remember that I went about doing those lyrics from it for a bit. People thought me odd. I’ve always been real fond of the jam that came with it for the final four or five minutes. Those familiar notes stayed with me as I crested ridges yesterday and checked out the valley.
Stay positive, right? Keep testing negative. Wear a mask if needed, when needed, as needed. Don’t let complacency take you down. Get the vax and boosters when needed, as needed, when you’re able, right? Here’s some rock for your ears. I’m springing ahead for coffee. The neurons need it.
Cheers
Saturday’s Theme Music
Congratulations. You have won a beautiful, brand-new Saturday, March 12, 2022. What will you do with your new day? Maybe clean the house, go to a concert, talk a walk, run errands, do general chores, read a book, play an instrument, knit, cook, eat, party, celebrate, sleep?
Day overtook night with sunrise at 6:28 AM. Tomorrow, as we spring ahead, sunrise will be at 7:25. But tomorrow’s sunset will be an hour later than the 6:14 PM of today. I don’t care. Just stop with it. Does it accomplish anything any longer?
Spring-flavored weather is in the air, with March’s roars shaking tree branches. A mild shower is expected in the afternoon. We’re at 60 degrees F now, with a high of 68 in the works.
A cover of “Blue Monday” by Orgy (1999) (which was originally released by New Order in the early 1980s) is running around and around and around the morning mental music stream, a writing derivative arriving because I was asking characters how they feel about a moment, and how I felt about the new novel in progress and its emerging, evolving directions. The neurons picked up on the quest for feelings and began playing the song. And here we are.
Stay positive, etc. You know it by now, don’t you? Keep Ukraine in your well of good outcomes. I’m going for coffee, as my well has run dry. Cheers
The Confused Writing Dream
I was in a small building where there was a small office busy with people. It had a feel that seemed lifted from a 1950s movie. They had published something. Different authors were asked to read it and express what they thought. I was one, and my response was not like everyone else’s, triggering a new path.
Yet, I was never certain what was going on. I’d read and commented on something, but it seemed vague throughout the dream. My response made them ask me attend a conference with them. An old friend, a college professor, was going, too. He and I would go together, driving across country in a big, dark blue Lincoln Continental. He prepared to go in a hectic frenzy. I seemed baffled about everything he did and confused about what was going to happen next. Yet, soon we were in the car, driving across the country through light rain.
He was driving. I said something about seeing people needing a ride and wishing we could help them. Next thing that I knew, he pulled over for a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker climbed into the back. I offered to take a turn driving but the professor insisted that he was fine.
Seeing several more people on the side of the road, he pulled over and offered them a ride. I was leery of this, feeling that we didn’t have the room, but people crammed into the car. I looked into the back seat; it looked like a small, cluttered room. A blanket covered the rear window. That was to keep out the light so people could sleep, I guessed, but worried that it was illegal and we’d be pulled over. I again offered to drive, but he dismissed the offer.
We arrived at the conference. My impression was that it was a giant flea market, although it was indoors. People selling junk seemed to cover every square foot. Moving was done slowly, carefully, patiently. Food was being sold. I was hungry but passed on getting something to eat because I was reminded that we were having a big banquet. Someone gave me cookies, which I ate.
The head, a tall and bald white, middle-aged male wearing hornrim glasses, gave a short speech. He told everyone else that I was going to write about my impressions of the article they’d published. That startled me. Everyone applauded except me. Bewilderment was overtaking me. I was to do what, when? I didn’t understand but didn’t know how to ask the question.
Then, without me doing anything, the professor told me it was time to go. I realized that it was the weekend and that he needed to be back in order to teach Monday morning. We rushed around, packing things into the car. I offered to drive, since he’d driven us out there. He agreed. The dream ended as I entered the car and put my hands on the steering wheel.
Dipfloofmat
Dipfloofmat (floofinition) – 1. Animal adept in the art of conducting negotiations and settlements between other animals, or with humans.
In use: “The little gray shorthair tabby with the loud meow was the difloofmat who kept the dogs and other cats quiet with a sharply issued meow. Karla didn’t know what the little cat said, but the others all abided her decision when she spoke.”
2. Human capable of bringing peaceful coexistence between animals.
In use: “Some called Marty a pet whisperer, but he thought of himself as a dipfloofmat, talking out disagreements between different pets, achieving flooftente between individuals and factions regardless of species.
Michael Seidel, writer 