- Slippage in my personal use is about losing track. Time. Lists. Progress.
- Slippage is heavy when I’m writing. Clocks disappear from my LOS when I don the writing hat. I’m in that other world. Following characters. Contact tracing cause and effect. Studying dialogue. Typing, typing, typing, typing. Surprise overcomes me when I discover that I’ve been at it for an hour or two. My ass is sore. Numb. Coffee gone or cold. I’m hungry. Writing usurps everything. I feel satisfied when I’m done. And starving to do more. But other matters call.
- Because I have lists. Tasks. Chores. Necessary Actions for Modern Life. Balancing accounts. Paying bills. Buying food. Cleaning litter boxes. Talking to people. Socializing. It’s all so draining. Give me the damn keyboard and leave me alone.
- I tend to avoid writing long posts for these reasons. Keep it short and simple. Use energy for longer stuff for my writing projects.
- I feel like I’m suffering from low energy. Might have to do with the smoky situation outside. I peer outside the window and catch the sunshine and blue sky and become happy. Look forward to a walk. An hour later, the smoke has closed its tentacles on the street. Blizzard-like visibility develops. Step outside. Smell the stench. Feel the nostrils sting. The sinus headache begins. Eyes dry out. Energy fizzles. Spirit implodes.
- Could also have to do with COVID-19. We — our county — is one of the nation’s hotspots. As prominent anti-vaxxers and mask deniers sicken and die with COVID-19, my county’s citizens continue protesting. Masks are not effective, they claim. COVID-19 is not serious in their estimation. The vaccine can’t be trusted. These positions make going to the stores or anywhere else a daunting effort. We mask. Others don’t. Stores don’t enforce masks. They know they’re impotent against the unmasks’ illogical, contrarian positions. Wearying is an understatement.
- Beyond writing, struggling to do the things expected to keep the house and body clean and neat, and the modern demands of being responsible, I spend time reading. Finished Klara and the Sun (Kazuo Ishiguro) last week. I really enjoyed it. Loved the simplicity. The straightforward minimalism. Handed it off to my wife. She took it up and gave me the book she’d finished: The Mirror & The Light (Hilary Mantel). The styles between the books are so different. As are the stories being told. One is futuristic, science fiction. The other is historical fiction. Each are greatly entertaining. My wife wasn’t as fond of Klara as I was. Too much minimalism for her.
- Reading The Mirror & The Light keeps calling me back to C.J. Sansom and his Mathew Shardlake series. Not surprising in retrospect. Both cover the same English period from similar points of view. In many ways, it’s just like picking up two books of any other genre and reading and comparing them. Of course, that’s one reason why I like Lincoln in the Bardo so much or The Underground Railroad. Hard to find books that compare favorably with them. Likewise, how Louise Erdrich is able to tell stories with elegant prose and yet be gritty always amazes me. For crazy story-telling along the lines of ‘look-what-you-can-get-away-with’, I look to Lincoln & Childs and their Pendergast series.
- I’m also an information junkie. We subscribe to the NY Times and several other online periodicals. I must always be aware of time while pursuing information. It isn’t enough to just read their articles; no, I must find other opinions and sources to vet what’s being put out there. Then, of course, there are a dozen bloggers who I enjoy following. Always must track them and their latest.
- I have three cats. All ‘rescues’ or strays. Came to me for a visit and stayed for a life. Tried finding their people. In one case, Papi (our ginger tabby), we knew who the owners were. They left him behind when they moved. Deliberately. Cocksuckers.
- Boo, though, is problematic. Don’t know what went on in his past but it left mental and emotional scarring. Arthritis affects him. PTSD, too. Anything new – smell, sound, visitors, anything – sends him into a frenzy. He snarls and hisses at our other cats. His coat is matted. Embarrassing. Sure it’s not comfortable nor healthy for him. But we’ve only reached the point that he can be petted without hissing or snapping at us. Slowly introducing him to a brush. S-L-O-W-L-Y. Yet, he seeks me out. Sleeps against me. Comes to me for attention and food. Sleeps at my feet when I’m at my desk writing.
- TC — Tucker Cat — meanwhile has matured wonderfully. Went from battling with Boo to gracefully indulging his needs. Walks around him without disturbing him. He, too, sleeps with me. Loves it when I sit down to read. Is beside my laptop now as I type. Where he frequently is during the day.
- On my list of things to do is call my parents. They are divorced. Dad is remarried. Mom has a live-in fiancé . One lives in Pennsylvania. The other is in Texas. Both are retired with health issues. I worry about them constantly. They take appropriate precautions but still. You know, right? Yeah, you get it.
- My wife’s health also worries me. She’s suffered from RA for over twenty years. Wasn’t originally diagnosed, of course. No, that required over a decade of treatments, blood tests, imaging, and doctor visits. She loves exercising and dancing. She’s suffering a flare that’s truncated her ability to do those things. It also gives her foggy brain. She struggles to remember. Spell. Abstract concepts give her problems. So dismaying watching her decline. She’s more social than me. Since she can’t go out per usual (RA, smoke, COVID-19), I’m her conversation partner. I’m not particularly interested in socializing and conversing. Particularly when I’m writing. She’s become fond of Reddit streams such as Am I the Asshole and Facepalm. Feels compelled to share them with me. She’s also almost obsessive about local COVID-19 news and trends and must share them as well.
- Circumstances have curtailed my walking routines. Had a long streak of averaging 11.3 miles per day. I woas driving toward twelve. Then COVID. Then, smoke. I sometimes mask and go for a walk but always preferred walking when I had concrete destinations. Coffee shops to write was my standard. I do miss those days. My average has declined to nine miles per day. Most of it is running in place in the house, which just is not as entertaining.
- Enough of a break. Time to return to writing like crazy. But first, another cup of coffee, please. Black, of course. Cheers
Floofson
Floofson (floofinition) – Male offspring of an animal.
In use: “Marty’s floofsons were perfect little replicas of him, black with white whiskers, a white diamond on their chests, and a long narrow tail.”
The Zombies Are Here
The zombies are here.
He wasn’t surprised. Not eating brains. Yet. No. Just a matter of time. Someone will probably tell them that eating brains will save them from the coronavirus or something. He wouldn’t put it past them.
He’d been expecting the zombies for a while. They’d quit thinking several years ago. Clearly were unthinking and undead, not caring about anything except themselves and the undermining of their so-called freedoms.
What else could they be but zombies? Living in such an alternative world, believing ridiculous conspiracy theories for which proof wasn’t offered. Well, okay, sometimes they tried to put up some ‘proof’ – or their idea of it – but then it was shot down. You know, like masks don’t work. Vaccines will magnetize you. The coronavirus is a hoax. No worse than the flu. There’s a secret child sex ring on Mars. Trump is still secretly POTUS. And take ivermectin for the virus that doesn’t exist, that’s no worse than the flu. Now they were trying to blame Biden for Afghanistan. Biden, who has been in office for seven months, who took office twenty years after the war in that poor country began.
Yep, the zombies are here.
Floofpetitive
Floofpetitive (floofinition) – 1. Action or activity persistently completed for an animal, especially a pet.
In use: “His floofpetitive routine began every morning with fresh water — two bowls — followed by the feeding of the three feline princes, and then the daily morning love session (each demanded private personal time to be petted and doted upon), and the litter box cleaning. The routine was done again in the evening.”
2. An activity or motion repeated many times by an animal.
In use: “Whenever Pam sat down, her cat jumped up on her lap and commenced floofpetitive grooming of her face and hair, often employing her paws to hold Pam’s head still.”
Exflooftrate
Exflooftrate (floofinition) – 1. To remove oneself from an animal with stealth.
In use: “Many people fall asleep and awaken to find a favorite pet asleep with them, looking as sweet as fresh cinnamon rolls, forcing them to exflooftrate themselves so as not to disturb their slumbering fur friend.”
2. To covertly or surreptitiously move an animal, preferably without disturbing them.
In use: “The sick dog was asleep on the floor. She exflooftrated her canine friend to the bed, where a heating pad would help warm his tired, old body.”
Wednesday’s Theme Music
I hear raining ratatattating on windows and roofs but it’s a sound held only in my mind. Dawn has broken. 6:29 AM. A slow ascent of mothy light. Shows the smoky particles off well. Gives the sun that fine burnished red tone as it streams past curling tree leaves, through windows.
Drum roll. Today is Wednesday, August 25, 2021. Sunset will be at 7:56 PM. Daylight’s shortening period is accelerating. Minutes are sliced away on either end.
Our air quality ranges around 123 in some parts of town, 250 in other sections. Varies with elements. Wildfires rage around us, miles away, pushing their presence through smoky sunrises and sunsets, terrible air quality. Encountered a woman the other day who’d fled, evacuated. Lost her house from a fire down in California. Only two houses remain in her neighborhood. Enduring the smoke doesn’t seem as bad after hearing that. Still sucks, though.
Dreams aplenty last night. Kept my mind buzzy. From one came a string of CCR songs. “Long As I Can See the Light” led the string. “Stuck in Lodi” followed. “Lookin’ out My Back Door” closed the set. Other songs mingled after I rose and tended the feline gods. Reading news, reflecting upon attitudes and politics, I end up with a 2005 Audioslave song, “Be Yourself” in mind. I enjoy how the song splinters responses to the same situation, shows how different people function (or fail) in parallel during life. One minute is one person’s happiest; it’s also another person’s worse. We’re all living in Schrodinger’s box. We are alive or dead, happy and sad, alert and inert by the second. At least that’s how it feels until I get some coffee in me. Lyrics sample:
Someone finds salvation in everyone, another only pain
Someone tries to hide himself, down inside himself he prays
Someone swears his true love until the end of time, another runs away
Separate or united, healthy or insane
h/t to good ol’ Genius.com
Had a little coffee. Need a lot more. Be posi. Test negy. Wear the masky as needed. Get the vaxy. Enjoy the tune. Be yourself is all that you can do.
Cheese. I mean, cheers
