Floof Jockey
Floof Jockey (floofinition) – Individual(s) responsible for maintaining order among animals and taking care of them.
In use: “In many households, floof jockey duties such as feeding, cleaning litter boxes, and exercise, are divided among children to help develop a sense of responsibility.”
Sunday’s Wandering Thought
He removed his toothbrush. Then he remembered that he wanted to wash his hands before he brushed his teeth. Hands washed, he reached for his toothbrush in its holder.
Gone.
WTH?
He looked around. There was the toothbrush, where’d he set it two minutes before.
So it was going to be that kind of day.
Someday’s Theme Music
Someday has come. Without work, without church, without routines save the one to get out and write again, my world has a narrow scope. Days on end seem the same, domino pieces with the same number of dots in the same order. Specifics like weather change, sometimes adding to the experience. Anyway, we’re planning a cruise — well, looking for one — after putting it off for a few years due to COVID. Just a small cruise, right, to feel the ocean’s roll and look at the expanse and remind myself how tiny I am. We’ll still working on our moving plans, but that’s going to consume a lot of energy. I’m not deeply into it yet.
It’s Sunday, Feb 5, 2023. Breakfast was already consumed, a bit of cantaloup and a cinnamon raisin bagel, and the coffee was drunk. News has been perused. Rain fell through the night, replenishing more local reservoirs and cisterns. Snow accumulates in the snowpack. 40 F now, under a gray crown, looking for 50 later. Sunrise and sunset are 7:20 AM and 5:30 PM. Celebrating a friend’s new grandchild, number four for him. He and his family are very pleased. I’m happy and excited because they’re happy and excited. It’s contagious stuff.
Didn’t sleep well, dealing with floofquests to go in and out, to be fed and petted, loved on and played with. They don’t want to recognize that I’m a day creature. “Come join us at night,” they urge.
“It’s dark and I can’t see,” I reply.
“Don’t worry, we’ll help you. Mind that hairball. It’s fresh.”
A bright moon was a break-out hit at one point. Outside with Papi, enjoying the fresh rain-enlivened air, Papi said, “See? There’s plenty of light. What is that over there? What the hell, I’m out of here.” He scurried back, leaving me standing there and staring, mumbling to myself, “What is it? I don’t see anything. Papi? Papi?”
I was also wringing hands over editing decisions and book directions, cursing my novel as a vile creature that needs to be buried. It’s all good, just the process. A looonnngggg process sometimes. Out of this, The Neurons have directed a song from the last century into the morning mental music stream. “Epic” by Faith No More was released in 1990. I was still assigned to Germany at the time, and the song was hugely popular with the troops rotating in as part of Desert Shield/Desert Storm. It was heard often and loud.
Here’s the music. Stay pos and enjoy Sunday as best as you can. I will. Sort of. Cheers.
Polyfloofdron
Polyfloofdron (floofinition) – A collection of several animals doing activities, such as sleeping or nursing.
In use: “After eating, grooming, and playing, the dog, cat, and kittens came together as a polyfloofdron on a bench cushion in the fur-melting sun.”
Words Wait
A friend has gone into hospice. Failing heart. Surgery to replace his pacemaker was aborted a few months ago. Measures were made to help him sufficiently recover for a new pacemaker. Whatever happened since, he’s in hospice.
I thought about him and me, and him and his life, trying to find words for where we’re at. I finally decided, I was happy to know him, enjoyed his company, admired his accomplishments, respected his principles, and enjoyed his company. The words feel empty and lost, as satisfying as reaching into an empty bag.
It’s the nature of existence as we know it to live and then die. Sometimes the space between the beginning and end are cruelly small. His was not. He’s done the first. Now he will do the second.
Saturday’s Wandering Thought
Websites seemed to be growing worse. Almost since the inception of the web, there was clickbait, slugs, ledes, and headlines to invite surfers to click and browse. Too many of these were outright misleading, trying to sensationalize political divisions and celebrity behavior.
Grammar declines. Punctuation mistakes, yes, and typos, which can happen, but some sentences are read several times before the fact is accepted that the sentence is I&I – incomplete and incoherent.
Now, bad links are blooming. Click on a link and it takes you to the wrong place. Is hijacking back? It seems like just weak execution. Whatever it is, it’s another modern, first-world annoyance.
Don’t get him started on the pathetic search results which are often returned.
The Writing Moment
He’d become pretty good at the blurt stage of fiction. This was about writing like crazy, inviting the muses in and plying them with drink, food, and drugs, getting them to open up and share. Volumes are written about every aspect of the novel from the concept to setting, characters, plot, and arcs. He needed to become better at the later stages of editing, revising, and developing a novel.
Michael Seidel, writer 