I was in charge of a small law enforcement unit, part of a national agency. We were all casually dressed, not even up to casual Friday standards. The people I led were young and inexperienced but eager. We’d been working on a case. Now we were closing in for the arrest. I was cautioning them, “But we don’t want to arrest them too soon. We are still gathering evidence in other aspects, and we want them to think that they’re one step ahead of us. In reality, we’re one step ahead of them. But we need them to be overconfident until it’s time to make all of the arrests.”
We were arresting a small gang of middle-aged individuals. No idea what their crime was. At this point, the dream evolved into us arriving at a place, waiting for the criminals to arrive, then ‘accidently’ revealing ourselves, letting them get away, to our feigned frustration. We did this five times before the other units announced that all traps were in place, and then we sprang our trap and arrested them. Only then did their leader realize that my team had been conning him. The look on his face was priceless.
It’s Thirstda! I’m glad about it because The Neurons kept telling me that yesterday was Thirstda. I accused them of being out of sync and reality deniers, much like Trump. Man, they fumed with indignation after that, sputtering about how wrong it was for me to compare them to TACO, who is deeply and grossly embedded in an alternate reality, in The Neurons’ opinions. “We’re not like that,” they kept telling me until I finally acquiesced and gave a half-warm fake apology about being sorry for comparing them to Trump. That mostly shut them up but they still sulked for a while.
Today’s numbers are 11/13/2025 and 60/64/56 for month/date/year and current/high/low temperatures in F. Wind is busy teasing the poor trees and leaves into mad waving and racing. It’s the kind of wind that has me checking to ensure nothing has blown away. Papi came in after I’d spotted him huddled hard against something, head down. Soon as I opened that door, he bolted in. Then he gave an angry look back, like he was swearing vengeance against the wind, and launched himself into a hard house gallop. Besides the wind, it’s sunny now, but it did rain and more rain is s’posed to be dropping, even if it doesn’t look it now.
I know I mentioned it before but I will reiterate, having my gallbladder removed has left me feeling amazingly better. I sleep better, have more mental and physical energy, with better focus. I feel less angry, anxious, and emotional, and less troubled and more confident about the future. I’m wary about what I eat as I slowly re-engage a wider range of offerings while keeping the fat down, and monitor my body’s response. I do miss being able to fully exercise. While I’m jogging, I’m restricted from lifting more than 20 pounds. Pushups and planks and wallsits are all out for now.
I had two terrific dreams last night that I recall. Both had me laughing as I recalled them. As I finished working over the dreams, I want into thinking and writing my novel in my head and ‘lo, the muses came and gave the writing neurons some sweet little details to insert. It’s great when things like that work out. I’m eager to get into it later today.
Today’s music is “Blind Spot” by Bruce Springsteen.
I’m not certain why The Neurons have “Blind Spot” in the morning mental music stream. The clue might be in that chorus. “Everybody’s got a blind spot that brings them down, everybody’s got a blind spot they can’t get around.” Was I thinking of blind spots? I don’t know. It appears that the reason behind The Neuron’s song choice is…ahem…hidden in a blind spot.
You saw that coming, didn’t you?
Well, the Trump Epstein Shutdown of 2025 set a record but ended. Now we’ll see what happens with the Epstein files. There have already been some interesting emails leaked up about Trump’s involvement. May the leaks become a flood.
Hope peace and grace find us soon. Meanwhile, coffee is giving a pep talk to The Neurons about the need to be alert, active, and optimistic. Here we go, once again. Rock on. Cheers
Windy, sunny, foggy, chilly, cloudy. That’s Wenzda in a string of weather words. Also noisy with someone’s machine droning out a long song. Birds are scarce. Papi did a floofstep this AM, bouncing to the door when opened to gallop out, he slammed on the paws, and backed himself back into the house. He no like wind. The numbers for today, November 12, 2025, are 54, 56, and 52. Seriously. That’s what I was told is our current temp, and the high and low, all in Fahrenheit.
Mom is doing so much better now. While sis related that to me, she’s returned to texting with me, and they’re much more intelligent and thoughtful. She texts, “You’ll never know how much I miss Frank.” I will not, but my mind can give it some insights. They were together as a 24/7 couple for most of two decades, sharing meals and jokes, opinions and rants, tending each other when sick or recovering. I do get it but I won’t ever know all the ways he was there for her. I’m happy they were together, because I saw how happy they made one another.
As for me yesterday, I gut tested more food offerings and felt pretty confident that all was going well. At least, no overt reversals took place telling me otherwise. I call that a win. I’ve also noticed I have much higher energy levels now, sleep better, and think better. I still dream a huge amount but that’s something else. Bottom lining it, the surgery definitely was for the best.
Today’s music is “Love Runs Out”. That started in my head, “until the floof runs out.” I found Papi’s wind reaction very funny, which he, an austere cat with a measured gaze, did not find amusing. But when I chuckled about his reversal and sang a bit of half-remembered tune with my inserted words, The Neurons said, “Oh, that’s One Republic, here we go,” and delivered the melody to the morning mental music stream.
Haven’t checked the news. Enjoying the morning so much, I thought I’d give myself a reprieve before I submitted to seeing what fresh political bullshit the Trump Regime lays on the world. Far as I know, the Trump Epstein Shutdown of 2025 is still going on, and the GOP is giving a pass to Trump’s unsavory character and hiding his crimes, making them his accomplices. But hey, they got that Jesus thing going for them, right? “Who would Jesus be cruel to,” they ask themselves daily, and gleefully respond, “Everyone who is not us!” The GOP is a depraved bunch. Sure, there may be a few who are not, but given their silence and/or active participation of the GOP mass, they’re rarer than a daisy in Antarctica.
Epstein and Trump, forever together.
Coffee is serenading Les Neurons. Hope peace and grace find their way out of the wilderness and back into our lives. Meanwhile, here we go. Time to rock on. Cheers
Okay, this is a first world rant. Part of the first world blues I’m always singing.
My recurring prescription drugs are supplied through Express Scripts. And it works great. Except when it doesn’t. It didn’t this week.
I received a message from them to give them authorization to start an autofill on one of my prescriptions. I logged in and did as required. Another message came in: you have one item in your cart. Please complete your purchase.
WTAF?
I didn’t ‘complete the purchase’. I gave them feedback. Asked them to call.
Which they did. It was Kelly. She explained why she was calling in a chipper, professional voice edged with a little nervous quiver. I explained why I was annoyed. How I felt the system was telling me to do two different things. She then began explaining to me why my interpretation wasn’t correct. Nothing she was saying aligned with the messages or my experience. Reaching the point of irritation and recognition that nada was getting changed, I thanked Kelly and prepared to hang up.
“Well, do you want me to take care of getting the autofill restarted?” she asked.
Well, I thought I’d done that when I logged in and clicked on a button to start autofill. “Yes, please,” I answered. Kelly talked through the process of what had happened, what she was doing, and…
Her tone faltered. I sensed that she saw exactly what I meant in my complaint. Then, she finally said in a low voice, “Sometimes this system doesn’t make sense.”
Vindication!
I smiled.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Kelly asked.
My smiled stayed. “No, Kelly. You have a great day and a great week.”
“Why, thank you. You, too.”
With that, we said our goodbyes and I basked in my tiny, tiny victory.
Ferrari red, it’s a wide, low vehicle. My wife is my passenger. We’re backing out of a garage. The passenger mirror hits the garage door frame. My wife gasps. I grimace. We finish leaving the garage and see that there is a Ferrari Testarossa mirror-shaped scallop removed from the garage door’s frame. I get out and check the mirror while my wife grumbles. The mirror is there but is upside down. A twist and I fix it, good as new. Nothing wrong with it, which amuses me; the mirror is stronger than the materials bracing the garage door. How funny is that?
We drive for a while at a fast but sedate pace. Then…in a jumbled shift, I’ve driven the Ferrari onto some kind of large transport. It’s like a train without a track, with a living room, kitchen, etc., and the mad chaos of eighteen people, including children. Many of the others there are known to me as actors and musicians, Oscar winners and Hall of Fame rockers. I’m amazed to be with them but also think, “About time.” A young blond Helen Hunt is present, herding three children running around. She’s managing but tells her children with a wicked smile and a gleam at me, “Hang on, children, Mommy has to drive this as fast as she can. It’s going to be hairy. Do you want Mommy to drive fast?”
“Yes,” the children all agree in repeated shouts while I’m agape, accepting, this is what I signed up for but I didn’t know what I was signing up for.
“Okay,” Helen Hunt says, “here we go.” She has a wooden stirring spoon her hand and is standing in the center of a room, children around her, toys strewn across the carpeted room. “Zoom,” she shouts, and thrusts her wooden spoon up.
The vehicle rockets forward. She waves her spoon and it rocks left, right, left. The children are laughing. I’m paralyzed in amazement. But we’re moving.
A conference among others is called and I attend. “Where are we going?” David Niven asks. “We’ll know when we’ll get there,” replies Bruce Willis, and a third who I couldn’t name tags on, “But we have to move fast.”
I offer to drive my Ferrari. It’s faster than this vehicle, so I can pull it along and we’ll get there faster. This is given serious conversation. I’m eager to do this but all decide, hold off for a while, let’s see what progress we make.
I go into another room and sit in a chair. A noise warns me, something is going out. “That’ll bring the ants out,” I think, looking down at the floor. Sure enough, as expected, a phalanx of black and red ants rush across the tiled floor. They’re going to be a bother if they go in the direction they’ve begun so I use a foot to divert their path. More obediently than cats, they turn in the new direction, and some wave thanks to me, because they understand why I diverted them.
David Niven finds me. “There you are. Come on, into the Ferrari. We need more speed. See what you can do.”
In a dream shift, I’m in the Ferrari but I’m alone. Others are hooking up the vessel and then shout, “Go.” The Ferrari is now black, I notice, and wonder when the color changed. Yet, I know it’s my Ferrari. I smashed the gas pedal and take the car up through revs, up through gears, snaking the car around traffic along an undulating and busy Interstate. Looking back, I confirm the vehicle is still being towed. I’m impressed that there’s no wind and little impression of speed. I feel in command, in control. This is a breeze, I think, speeding toward some brightly lit collection of skyscrapers looming larger on the horizon.
Twozdaz, November 11, 2025. Happy Veteran’s Day to my fellow vets. Hope peace and grace find you today and every day. The digit set for today is 49, 58, and 51, with dense fog. Yesterday turned gorgeous for me. Out walking, I encountered the friendliest and most beautiful autumn trees. Such colors and personalities. I’m fortunate to live in a place of such beauty and have the means to enjoy it.
Recovery is going great. Rolled out of bed without any thoughts to the incision sites or how I should move. Just wasn’t any pain or discomfort to remind me to watch out. Having had pain meds in several days. Did begin a protocol of med level Ibuprofen yesterday.
I’m off on a day of errands today. Highlighting the events are picking up my wife’s new glasses. Her last visit with the optometrist revealed her left eye’s vision had severely changed for the worse. She’s eager for new glasses to rectify that. Bought that at Costco one week ago. They called last night to tell us they were ready. After that, Trader Joe for some essentials, and a restaurant to pick up some Vet Day freebies.
With so much information filling our lives on a daily, is it any wonder that The Neurons introduced “Jammin’ Me” into the morning mental music stream? This song is all about too much. Written by Bob Dylan and Tom Petty, who were looking at newspapers and magazines and selecting words and phrases, Petty remembered that Mike Campbell had given him some music, and that’s the genesis of the song. Trippy.
Waiting to see if the Trump Epstein Shutdown of 2025 will end its record run. Disappointing that Dems caved. They won’t earn any credit for caving, and the situation will remain unbearable for millions, and worsen. The cruelty is the point, remember? The destruction of our culture and the rewriting of our history is the point. To put one party permanently in charge is the point. To keep billionaires rolling in money and to enrich Trump is the point. To empower the presidency over the other branches of government is the point. To undermine and enslave the majority is the point. To put children back into factories and women pregnant and back in the kitchen is the point. To have an uneducated, subservient, mute, and compliant population is the point. To have white males rule again is the point. When they say, “Make America Great Again”, this is where they want to take us, back to a time when it was more like this, and regulations didn’t exist to keep people safe and healthy. That’s the point.
Epstein and Trump, party pals!
Time to coffee up. Hope grace and peace find the way to the rest of us, besides the vets. Dense fog just rolled up, blanketing the sun and triggering the house heater. Here we go. Cheers
The triples for Munda, November 10, 2025, are 56, 68, and 49, with a side of fog. We’re into an autumnal cycle here in Ashlandia. I’ll take it over the snow I saw falling on TV in other places.
It’s same ol’, same ol all over again. Dems are capitulating in the Trump-Epstein Shutdown. Their gelatinous spines disappeared…again. So much winning. If a ‘deal’ is made. It’s only one step. But the healthcare subsidies Dems thought so important are off the table. So…what were you doing, Dems? Holding out for nothing, for pain and theater? They seem to think they can ‘hold Republicans accountable’ for the increasing costs of healthcare premiums. They’ve learned little. Cruelty is the point. Republicans are deaf, hard-headed, and cultists when it comes to Trump and matters like healthcare. Sure, FAFO moments will emerge far and wide, but most are still in their Trump bubbles and will blame the Dems. Besides, Trump is trying to bribe people with a $2000 check. That’ll earn him kudos with many, even as the economy breaks and crashes, even as more people grow sick from lack of healthcare. Just like the ‘good old days’, right? MAGA: Make America Groan Again, yeah, groan with pain, sickness, illness, disease, shortages, and poverty. We must be on the right path.
Dozy Donny sleeping as the United States crumbles. Of course, this is when the nation is safest, when he’s sleepin’ and not lying and fomenting
Will the shutdown’s end bring us to revelations about what’s in the Epstein Files. Of course not! The GOP will lie, cheat, and con to keep their glorious leader propped up and farting. You must not have been paying any attention if you’re giving that question serious weight. We’re not going to learn about that file’s contents until Trump is dead and encased in glass, on permanent display in the cold, tacky Trump Rotunda of some grossly ugly building somewhere.
How many times, I wondered about several things while perusing news. The Neurons concluded that I was asking them to play the Bob Dylan classic, “Blowin’ in the Wind” in the morning mental music. Bob asked some questions in the 1962 song.
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn't see
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind
Floofswoggle(floofinition) To trick or deceive an animal. Origins: Southern United States, 17 century. First noted in print in A Human Guide to Fascinating Floofs & Their Flummoxing Fancies.
In Use: “One recent net trend shows people floofswoggling dogs with the ball trick.”
In Use: “People cutting cakes made to look like a cat in front of a cat is an example of how people entertain themselves by floofswoggling their housefloofs.”
Michael Seidel, writer 