Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The Floof Body Problem (floofinition) – In households with animals, the floof body problem is the issued encountered when an animal or floof is asleep or comfortable on an individual who needs to move.
In use: “Once they adopted two cats, Mel and Karla started encountering the floof body problem as the new boys found comfort on the humans’ laps, stalling efforts to get up to eat or pee, or just move because part of them had gone numb.”
Patrick felt like warmed-over crap. Aches gnawed his spine. Coffee tasted like tar in his mouth. Betrayed by coffee. How was that possible?
Squinting at the ceiling, Patrick loosened a long and heavy sigh. “God, universe, whatever, please, please, change my luck for me. I seriously need a change.”
A small person at a gray desk floated in front of him instantaneously. She was about four inches tall, seated as she was, in a pleasant black suit with a white shirt. As he gaped at her and backed away, the napping black cat arose from his desk and hurried over, ready to pounce on the newcomer.
“Control your cat,” the little pale-skinned female with short gray hair said. “I don’t want to hurt it.”
Grabbing Loki, Patrick asked, “Who the hell are you? How’d you get here?”
A little disapproving cluck came out of the little one. “Call me Hortense. I’m with luck prayer services. You prayed for a change of luck. I’m here to address your request.”
Meowing, the cat squirmed in Patrick’s arms while keeping hot green-eyed focus on the little floating agent. “I’m never heard of…what’d you call it?”
“Luck prayer services. I’m Hortense, your account manager. You asked for more luck. Unfortunately, you’re out of luck. In reviewing your account, I see that you were born with a great deal of luck. Intelligent, talented, white, male, born in the United States of good parents…minor issues with them… No genetic issues. Yes, you were lucky. Unfortunately, you’ve used it all up.”
Tapping a keyboard, she leaned into the screen. “Several car accidents while drink driving in which you escaped unhurt and without legal repercussions. Tornados. Hurricane. Earthquake. Promotions. Stock purchases. Health. You smoked cigars for ten years and had no respiratory problems when COVID-19 struck. You realize how lucky that is?”
“I…yeah, yeah.” Patrick bobbed his head. “I know, I know.”
Loki broke free and leaped for Hortense. Something caught and held the cat in mid-air.
“Told you to control that cat, sir,” Hortense snapped. “If you don’t, I will.”
“I – sorry.” Patrick took Loki and put him in another room and closed the door. Hortense and her desk followed him throughout.
Turning and encountering her in the hall made Patrick jump. “Jesus, you.” He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. It sounds like you’re telling me that my luck has run out.”
“I am, sir.”
“That doesn’t sound good for me.”
“No sir.”
“Anyway I can get more?”
“Of course.” One thin eyebrow jumped on Hortense’s tiny face. “It would take more money than you now have but you can buy more luck.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“A deal with the Devil is highly rated.”
“Yikes. Don’t think I’m ready to do that. Isn’t there anything else?”
“You can try to create your own luck. Some people have luck with that.” Hortense chortled. “Or you can steal some.”
Loki yowled at the door and vigorously clawed it.
“Are you seriously suggesting that I steal someone else’s luck?” As he asked, Patrick amended his thinking. “Can I choose my victim?” He was thinking, Tucker Carlson and Donald Trump both seemed pretty damn lucky. Or Soros. Gates. Musk.
“You can but that rarely works out. Hard for most to differentiate between good and bad luck. You might accidently pilfer their bad luck.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want that.” Patrick felt resigned, which oddly made him feel better. It was like, this wasn’t in his control. Knowing that relieved him of responsibility. Nothing he could do about it. “Is there anything else?”
“Well…yes. According to your records, you are eligible for employment.”
Patrick went still with thought. “Go on.”
“If you work for us, you can be compensated in good luck.”
“Who is us?”
Hortense smiled. “We just call ourselves The Bureau. Capital T, capital B.”
“You’re recruiting me.” Patrick suspected a setup. “So I do a job for you and The Bureau pays me in good luck.”
“Yes.”
“I assume whatever it is won’t be easy.”
“They’re normally not. But let me tell you. With your luck, if you don’t take this offer, you’ll be dead in a year.”
That’s how Patrick’s career began. Hard to believe but now he was about to start his tenth mission.
He’d need all of his hard-earned luck to stay alive.
He thought changing browsers had resolved his WordPress issues. Not so. Longer posts still struggled with the autosaving function. It was like Schrödinger’s WordPress. Never knew what was going to happen.
He was in the coffee shop so it could have to do with their bandwidth or his net connection. Whatever it was, there was no fix. Just coping the post onto a doc, break the connection, start again.
Once it went was into the autosaving hang up, there was no saving it.
A college-aged woman entered the coffee shope as he was walking toward the door to leave. Seizing the door, she held it open from inside, pushing it out — or tried, as the door slid closed, mocking the angle and effort she made. Besides that, she was inside, which didn’t leave much space for him to pass in the narrow space.
But he appreciated the effort and sprang forward, catching the door’s edge, relieving her of the duty, smiled, and said, “Thank you,” because that’s how it was all done.
But he wondered, what were doors like in the past that people make such an effort to hold them ajar for one another? Must have been massive, heavy beasts. It was another matter to research.
Eighteen percent of The Light of Memories remains to be edited and revised in the third revision session. Small percentage but over a hundred pages. Once it’s done, another round of reading it through will begin. Figure I’ll read and edit until I reach the point that I’m not confused by anything I’m reading, that it reads smoothly and fully, that I’m not pausing to make corrections.
Then I’ll offer it to others. So, maybe this century. If not, the next.
1973 found me living in West Virginia, having moved there the previous year, after moving to Ohio from Pennsylvania, and a high school junior. Yeah, changes were underway.
1983 – an adult, in the military, married, stationed on Okinawa with trips to Korea, China, and Japan that year
1993 – still married and in the military, in Sunnyvale, California
2003 – retired from military but still married, living in Half Moon Bay, California, working for IBM
2013 – married and in Ashland, Oregon, still with IBM
2023 – Ashland, married, retired from everything except writing
Different places and careers through the years, but the same marriage since ’75
’tis sunny enough for a shadeless desert but the sun is just waking the air’s warmth. 42 F outside but the weather sultans tell me 73 F is possible for Ashlandia today. The people are rejoicing. Sunshine’s appearance began about 6:15 this morning and will go until a few minutes after eight. The cats are happy with the weather, snoozing in sunshine in the front or back yard. Rest of the week is looking good. Summer is sliding toward us and gaining speed.
It’s Tuesday, April 25, 2023 today. A quiet time in Ashlandia, but it’s early. Politics are still ramping up. Homeless are camping out in a park. How much money is enough money for the Parks & Rec folks? What’s going on with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival? A cougar killed another deer in someone’s yard. Pets are missing and folks are worried.
Another storm of dreams has The Neurons rocking the morning mental music stream with “Rockin’ Into the Night” by 38 Special. The song came out in 1983, a good year for my kind of rock music. On Okinawa in service of the USAF at that time. This was one of those songs that became cranked in volume so we could sing along off key. It’s a good song for that purpose. I suspect that 1983 came up because I’ve been reflecting on life and recall that I broke my neck in 1982 on Okinawa. Wore a halo device for most of the humid Pacific summer. Anyway, part of me was saying, geez, that was forty-three years ago next month. Zowie.
A note on posting via WordPress. I was having issues. The issues grew, not just with WordPress but anything being used on MS Edge. I worked on fixing Edge for a while. Nothing worked. Yes, all the usual things. Anyway, I switched to Chrome this morning in frustration. Voila, as they say. No issues.
Seize the coffee. I’ve seized mine and slurped some down with a post-breakfast muffin. Window repair man coming to fix one that took a hit during a wind storm. It’s an outside panel. The inner one remains intact, so some heat loss but we weren’t exposed or anything. Stay pos and work the day.
Cheers
FISS – (floofinition) – Floof Impaired Sleep Syndrome; condition where rest is disrupted by animals. Usually associated with housepets.
In use: “Between Tucker hunting down Michael’s hand for some nocturnal loving and Papi’s demands to go out and back (times four), Michael sometimes suffers FISS and needs a cuppa coffee just to start feeling human in the AM.”
I was in an ocean with others. Waves bobbed, moving me, but the water rose to my chest and I was standing on the sea floor. We were all waiting to hear if we were released by our company. We were all almost certain we were, so we were eager for a new position somewhere.
I’d learned of an opening and applaud, writing up a small resume of my skills and experience. The water shifted into a large room. People were at workstations, busy with their tasks. I’d never worked in an environment like that, I thought. Always had at least a cubicle but mostly had an office. Someone from the potential new company said, “We’ve set up a mock up of the new position workstation.” We all went up to take a look.
The station looked like a toy. Small green desk, tiny green chair, hardback, with a cushioned seat, and a small task lamp. A man was asleep beside it. No computer or phone. Someone asked if there would be a computer provided. “No,” was the answer given, “computers aren’t needed for this position.”
Disappointment roiled through me. I knew, I’m not getting that position. After soaking in that for a few minutes, I learned that I didn’t get the position. I also learned of friends and co-workers and their positions. I decided I would appeal to them. See if they could put in a word for me, knew of an opening, or hire me as their assistant.
Dream end.
He always bought her earrings when he traveled. He thought she would like some dangling seaglass ones with a smalls silver hoop. Arriving home, he carefully added it to the collection. Someday he’d meet her, and he’d watch her eyes when he gave her the earrings.
He was certain she’d have beautiful eyes.
Michael Seidel, writer 