Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Panda Floof (catfinition) – a black and white cat that looks like a panda bear.
In use: “Looking out the window during a pause, he spied a cat making its way across the street toward his house. As the cat reached the sidewalk, it turned and paused, revealing its resemblance to a panda floof.”
First a hot, black sip
and then writing like crazy
and a long, cold gulp
a twinge
becomes an ache
an ache grows into a throb
the throb develops as a relentless pain
the pain
becomes a fear
the fear grows into a concern
the concern develops as a constant worry
the worry
becomes a visit
the visit grows into a routine of meds
the meds develop as a constancy of life
the life
becomes a bore
the bore grows into apathy
the apathy develops as a decision
the decision
becomes a moment
the moment grows into a goal
the goal develops as an ending
Floof of Drawers (catfinition) – a cat settled in furniture designed to hold clothes.
In use: “Whenever she opened a drawer to get clothes out, her calico feline friend leaped in, asserting her role as the floof of drawers.”
Warm temperatures keep reminding me of songs about heat and the hot air. The late Glenn Frey performed this one as part of his solo act after the Eagles disbanded, and it was included in Beverly Hills Cop starring Eddie Murphy .
Here is “The Heat Is On” from 1984.
Looking out a window, I saw an elderly white woman gesturing as she ranted. I couldn’t understand what caused her ire, and then realized she addressed the presence of two white boxes. The boxes weren’t large, about the size of a VHS tape cassette each. Her issue seemed to be that they were sitting by the side of the road, and nobody was picking them up. After she pointed the boxes out, I could see the boxes and the road, and see that she stood on a yellow field.
A friend from my military service, Derek, came in and left me a box. Closed, made of brown cardboard, it was about four by four by four inches, a cube. After some time of sitting around the place doing other things, and looking out the window at the ranting woman and the two white boxes, I picked the box up and tried, but failed, to open it. Setting the box down, I left the house.
It was dreary and busy outside. The ranting woman was gone. The two white boxes were still there. I crossed the yellow field to them and picked them up. Cars passed me on the road as I examined the boxes. They were flimsy and empty. I couldn’t understand why the woman was so upset about them and their presence. I looked for a place to discard them. Not finding one, I took the boxes to my place.
I left my place again and went to what seemed like a parcel delivery place. It was very busy. I found a locker with three boxes inside it. They were addressed to someone else, a man. I knew his name, but I didn’t know him, but I believed I knew what was in the boxes. I wanted to know, so I took the boxes to my place, and opened them.
I can’t recall what was in two of the boxes, but shoes were in the third. Feeling ashamed of what I’d done, I closed the boxes and left with them, meaning to return them. I ran into Derek and explained what I’d done, and that I needed to put them back. I didn’t want anyone else to know what I’d done, and I wanted the rightful recipient to get his boxes. Derek couldn’t help. I eventually took the box back to where I’d stolen them and put them there.
After returning home, I took the two white boxes that the woman railed about, and put them back where they’d originally been. Then I went back into my place.
Derek came in and took the box he’d brought me. “Sorry,” he said. “This wasn’t supposed to go to you.”
He left, and the dream ended.
I walked two miles this morning prior to my writing session. As I did, I thought, man, it already feels hot. Sweat was soaking my shirt, hat, and shorts. I knew from checking the weather that it had already been in the seventies but that the heat index was about six degrees hotter.
It felt it. It fortunately didn’t feel like the one hundred nine degrees reported in Denver, thank the fates. As expected for me, I began streaming songs about heat, and ended up with this Billy Idol gem from 1982, “Hot in the City”.
I awoke hungry from last night’s dream.
It was a simple thing. My wife and I were with many other people. I knew them all, but she’s the only one I recognize from my actual life.
After walking on a cement walk, we entered a hall or reception area. I smelled food as soon as I walked in. Huge, the place bustled with people hurrying about. I realized most were servers. Long tables of food were set up along the walls on either side.
My wife and I were confused, asking one another, are we supposed to be here? Neither of us knew. We were looking around. The people we’d been with were not with us. We couldn’t see them. We saw a lot of other people, but not anyone we knew. I decided, “We must be in the wrong place. We took a wrong turn. We’re not supposed to be here.”
She agreed with me. We were turning to leave when a young serving woman in dress in black, with a white apron, approached and said, “Let me show you to your table.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I said. “Is this a wedding or reception?”
The young woman looked confused. “No. This is where everyone eats.”
I was confused. “Who is everyone?”
“Everybody.”
“So this food is for everyone?”
“Yes.”
We went back and forth talking about it because I was sure there was something yet to be revealed about what included everybody, but it was a circular dialogue, with the answer being that we’re supposed to be here. The food was for us.
My wife and I looked at one another. “I guess we’re supposed to be here,” I said.
“You are,” the woman said. “Follow me to your table.”
We followed her but I remained highly doubtful. She took us to a table, one of those big, round ones, set with flatware and glasses for ten. A young man came up, asking if what we wanted to drink. He could get us anything that we wanted. We chose our drinks. He went off. We then realized it was a buffet and went off to one side. There was table after table with food parallel to the wall, with servers waiting behind the tables. I think I saw everything – turkeys, hams, steaks, and fish, along with bowls of vegetables, and potatoes prepared in different ways, like scalloped, boiled new with butter and parsley, and mashed. I saw an omelet bar, a huge salad bar, and pies, cakes, and cookies at a another table, and an ice cream sundae bar.
The sight of so much food floored me. I still didn’t think I was supposed to be there. I was certain there was a misunderstanding. Nevertheless, I ordered food, which is where the dream ended.
Writing this up today, I realize I’ve had similar dreams to this before. I derive a meaning from it that makes me grit my teeth, that I continue to doubt myself, believing that I’m not worthy, that I don’t belong to wherever I’m going.
