Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofversation (floofinition) – an informal talk between one or more people and their pets.
In use: “Each morning as he fed the cats and dogs, they had a floofversation about the weather, the book he was reading, and the news. The animals tended to agree with him, which he interpreted as evidence of their intelligence.”
Exfloofmation (floofinition) – a sudden cry or remark, especially expressing surprise, anger, or pain, in connection that a pet has done; a sudden noise, expressing surprise, anger, or pain, made by a pet.
In use: “Seeing the vomit, he said, “Not again,” in exfloofmation, only to hear his dog release an exfloofmation in the other room that sounded like he was in pain.”
I read a recent article about how we see ourselves. The article’s essence was that a study showed that people could readily see how they’d changed, but didn’t think they would change in the future.
That’s an odd conclusion. Looking back on how and why I change, I can appreciate how the world changed, forcing me to change. Mentors, friends, and family members have died. Their influence remains, but it’s faded.
Sometimes, I think of it like dominoes. I’m in a long row that’s been set up to fall over when tapped, part of a pretty design. Matters that tap me over include my changing body. My hearing is damaged and my vision has lost its acuity. My metabolism has slowed, as has my physical energy, and my muscles are weaker. My joints are stiffer, and my athleticism and coordination have diminished. My sleeping patterns have changed. I endured illnesses and injuries which changed my trajectory. I’ve gained weight and developed gluten and dairy reactions. I mostly bloat. Before I bloated, I didn’t understand what people meant when they said, “I feel bloated today.” Now I understand.
Our food chain has changed. What impact that has on me, I probably won’t ever know. I was introduced to new foods, and dishes from other cultures, and I was introduced to better quality food, increasing my awareness of what quality means, and how it influences me.
Technology has advanced, enabling me to hear more music, inviting me in as a witness to more amazing events and moments. I usually have a laptop or tablet nearby to keep me connected to others. I’ve never met many of the people who are in my circle of friendship. Science has advanced, giving me more to think about. Researchers, psychologists and sociologists have gained insights into how our bodies, societies, and civilizations function. Engaging TED Talks and blogs help socialize new information. Big data analytics keep expanding on what we know, or what might be going on.
Our society and government have changed. Events like 9/11 changed us. I make more effort to understand the world than I used to make. After traveling and living outside of the United States, I became more watchful about politics, equality, justice, and our environment. As our politics have changed, and groups like white supremacists and Nazis have grown, I’ve been forced to question what I know. Likewise, revelations of sexual assault, news of murders, and lies by politicians and others sharpen my desire to know the truth and understand.
I’ve read many more books since I was young. I’ve written books. Both activities encouraged thinking, and from the thinking has come change in my views, approaches, appreciation, and understanding.
My brain has changed, apparently from triggers built in at some genetic level. I’ve become more impatient. Lessons learned through betrayal, resentment, success, and failure have fostered changes to my behavior. I work on improving myself more than I used to, when improving myself meant working out or taking classes.
I’ve lost hair on my head. My hairline recedes and my baldness expands. My hair thins and grays. Meanwhile, the rest of me becomes hairier. With my aging and changes, I became more invisible to a larger segment of population.
Or maybe that’s just me and my perceptions. They can change.
I can extrapolate some ways that I’ll probably change. I think I’ll be more withdrawn, speaking less, and enjoying small talk less. I hope to be writing and publishing more, but that’s a hope that I’ve been nurturing for over twenty years. My future diet will probably be more limited, I’ll be less active, and pop culture will seem more alien. I’ve always disliked talking on the telephone, and avoid it when I can. I suspect it’ll be hard to get future me on the phone.
I’ve been fortunate that I’ve escaped being caught in disasters. That luck can change. It feels, sometimes, like the hazardous air from the wildfires of the last few years have changed me. Certainly, that smoke, combined with the blazing heat, increased my depression, depleted my energy, and sapped my will. It certainly changed my summer and expectations.
Then, there are the other people in my life. Their changes, illnesses, success and failure will change me, too. That’s one constant that’s not likely to change.
All these variables will cause changes in me. I don’t know what I’ll be like in the future, but I don’t think that who I am now is who I will be.
The first dream was simple and peculiar. I was with male friends from different times of my life, but we were all young adults, regardless of how old I was or they were when I knew them. I think there were a dozen of us. All were people I haven’t seen in years. Some of them have died.
We were playing a game in the living that required us to bounce off the walls. I was watching, though, trying to remember the game’s name and the rules. One friend went into the kitchen. I went after him to ask questions, but the dream was interrupted, and that’s where it stopped.
My second dream was about land, property, and building. My wife and I had bought some property. The deal was set in motion, but was incomplete.
Visiting our property prior to taking possession, a sort of wooded country place of several acres and buildings, we encountered a group of young teenagers with a pile of remotes. They were taking turns hurling remotes at trees and rocks to break the remotes, an activity that fed giddy laughter. Talking to them about it, a smiling girl said that her father encouraged them to break the remotes like this to relieve stress and tension. Feeling that we could use a release, my wife and I threw some remotes and concluded, it is a great way to relieve stress. Meanwhile, I wondered how they’d collected so many remotes.
We went into a small house that was part of our new property. A balding, stocky man and several teenagers were busy working on it inside. An old building with white walls, tall, traditional windows made it a light and airy place. I somehow know that the layout was different than it had been. The man working on the place confirmed it, explaining what had been where and how they’d been moved. As he talked, I said, “That’s right, you’re the original building.” He confirmed that, but I knew that he wasn’t the person who sold us the property. He confirmed that, too, telling me that he’d been hired.
Then I remembered his name was Was, but then questioned myself on the spelling. Was it Was, Waas, or Wass?
In the third dream, I was flying in an aircraft. It seemed like it was an advanced technology. It lacked wings and was quietly traveling fast and high above a planet.
I thought the planet was Earth, but I wasn’t sure, and was collecting details in search of verification. A bright yellow-white sun shone in a blue sky. Only a few sketchy, high cirrus clouds marred the sky’s impeccable blue. The ground below was mostly sandy brown and flat with green and dark blue patches that sometimes looked black. I took the dark blue/black patches to be lakes or puddles. A haze-filled horizon seemed to veil mountains.
I tried understanding which way we were traveling, and the sun’s path, as a way to verify it was Earth. Therein was an interesting duality. I was in the dream with friends (although they’re nobody that I know from this life), discussing our plans (we were on a mission to find other people), but I was also aware that I was in the dream and was trying to understand the dream.
That’s where it ended.
Warning: this snarky rant has some profanity.
Well, I should have known.
I’d been using Gmail for years. It started sliding down hill a few years ago. To save it, I went to Inbox.
Mistake.
Four years later, and a year of PERSONAL frustration for me, frustration that included random shifting of mail into different places. WaPo’s news letter will be in one place on one day, somewhere else the next.
Delete an email? Not under this POS. Delete may work. It might not. The emails show up again and again, driving me crazy as I remembered already reading that mail and deleting it, sometimes THREE TIMES IN ONE DAY.
Earlier this year, Google announced they’re dropping Inbox. Does that mean they fucking improved Gmail?
Not fucking likely.
Being Google, it still works like crap. However, they’ve managed to add several infuriating features. One particularly pisses me off. Each time I delete an email or change a tab — hell, anytime I do anything in Gmail, a small offer comes up:
Nothing stops this zombie question. Can’t be turned off. It just asks me again, and again. Hide? Fat fucking chance. It comes right back up after I do something. Click the X? No, that shit doesn’t help, either. Yes, it offers a brief respite, but nothing more. It’s always there, obsequiously asking me if I want to use their fucking feature.
As Rake would say, “Oh, fuckity fuck, fuck.”
He’s a smile in fur,
a presence in purr,
a weight on your legs,
and a sweetie who begs.
He’s a whiskered shadow,
on your pillow,
and a paw beside you,
trying to guide you.
He’s a mighty hunter,
scared of thunder,
quick as light,
and quiet as night.
He’s a song and a feeling,
a world and a being,
and a time and place,
touching your face.
Sometimes, you get up and start riding the wave of the day, but other days, you hang back, waiting for the wave to develop.
There had been decisions before, but things change, so new decisions were reached and accepted. What had been important became meaningless as priorities sifted like sand dunes.
Others ran into him, exchanging greetings, but then, privately told one another, “He’s really changed,” “Yes, he let himself go.”
They saw it as a bad thing.
Do you know that moment when you first smell the brewed coffee and lift a cup of it up to your lips, and feel the heat radiating toward you? You take that first sip and let it loiter in your mouth and slip down your throat, and think, “Wow, that’s so good.” You take another sip, and the sip becomes a long, lingering swallow that hefts a sigh in you as your lips finally part with your cup, and it comes to you, that might be the best thing of your day?
But then you go on, and there are other good things during the day, and you think, “This can be a pretty good life.”
Naw, that’s probably just the coffee talking.
