Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

I park the car and head up the street towards the coffee house. As it happens on other days, four more people are making the same trek. We all share an urgency and focus to our movement. I think again, we’re like ants going toward a piece of food, and amuse myself again, thinking, coffee ants. I can almost picture the others with waving antennae…

Coffee ants. Coffants.

Brewants?

Espressants?

Satyrdaz Wandering Thoughts

The honeymoon is over.

Sis is angry with Mom. Mom is angry with her. They are, as they have done for decades, growling at one another. Accusations sometimes come out about what’s going on. Sis thinks Mom is being obstinate. Mom thinks sis is being mean.

Growing experiences from the new living arrangements are certainly expected. Both are intelligent and know this. As with so many things, there are components of making these adjustments. It’s one thing to intellectually know something, yet something else to intellectually understand and accept it, and still requires some emotional and physical facets to adjust to make it all work. It’ll take time. Patience and anger will rise and fall like waves beating on the shore. The adjustments will be found.

I hope.

Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I had a minor disagreement the other day.

I had surgery to repair a ruptured tendon last year, in October, 2024. I’ve had pain of various kinds since then. One source of pain was along toes three to five, which was often stiff with burning pain. I’d mentioned it to my surgeon, as it began during my convalescence from surgery. He said that it sounds like a nerve was damaged. I felt the same. Although I’m not a medical expert or doctor, etc., I broke and dislocated a wrist in my late twenties. Pins casts immobilized that wrist and arm. I suffered from a burning, painful sensation along the pin sites after they were removed. My doc back then told me it was probably nerve damage. It did go away after about twenty years. This foot pain felt just like that pain.

While walking the other day, I felt a sudden sharp and painful snap in my foot where the toe pain resides. After gasping and slowing for a second, I resumed walking. Lo, that foot pain was gone. It hasn’t come back.

I was so elated. I went home and told my wife. She responded, “Why is this the first that I’m hearing about this?”

One, it wasn’t the first she was hearing about it. She’d forgotten me mentioning it, but I spoke about in early January of this year. I don’t blame her for forgetting it. We don’t remember everything we’re told.

Two was a broader philosophical position. Basically, I don’t tell her about every pain I endure. I’m aging, and have pains from time to time. Feet, ankle, hips, neck, shoulder, back, abdomen, eyes, etc. Those pains often go away. Their duration can last anywhere from a few hours to a week. Sometimes they limit movement, and more rarely limit my activities. My point is, pain comes and goes. I prefer to not complain. And then means, to me, not mentioning.

And there’s a little history in that. Number one was Mom. Mom as a mother often told us to stop crying, stop whining, stop complaining. She wanted us to be happy children. If we couldn’t be happy, she wanted us to be quiet.

Then there’s history with my wife about this. Long ago, when I was twenty, I was severely sick for several days. We didn’t see doctors back then for things like that. Basically vomiting, not eating, listless, sweating a lot, lot of pain. That pain resulted in some moaning and groaning.

Yeah, I got over it and lived. But about a year later, my wife was speaking to others and talked about what a baby I was when I was sick and hurt. That insulted and angered me. I told her so when we were alone. It since became a theme for her to talk about how often men complain about being sick or hurt when women are so much hardier, and more willing to endure. I finally mentioned to my wife that I disliked this reductivism about men and pain. She’s done it off and on since, and once, after seeing me give her a look when she made such a statement, apologized and claimed that she wasn’t including me. Since then, she’s slowly drifted out of the habit.

But this is how we evolve. We have our basic attitudes and tendencies, and then we react to our environment. Part of that is how we react to what we hear. What is said about us, especially by those we love, admire, and trust. Maybe I’m being thin-skinned, but words matter. Part of my problem, too, is that I seem to have a very strong memory. I don’t easily forget or forgive.

I guess that’s my bottom line.

Floof-adjacent

Floof-adjacent (floofinition) – Compliment among floofs that someone or something is almost as good as an animal. Origins: Early nineteenth century United States, esp. New England.

In Use: “The cats declared of their person, Jill, ‘The way she respects our needs, honors our rights, and keeps us well-groomed and fed, she’s as floof-adjacent as we can find among humans, so I say we keep her.'”

Recent Use: “The big ol’ house dog, Charleston, told the new foster kittens, ‘Look here, Richard is about as floof-adjacent as you’ll find. Once you have more knowlege about the people world, you’ll come to realize how fortunate you are.'”

Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

I’ve been living with cats all of my life. It may be affecting me. When I see something on our house’s hardwood floors, I tap it to see what it does, as I’ve witnessed my cats do.

I don’t sniff it, though, as they do. Or eat it. I’m not at that stage of my metafloofaphosis.

Yet.

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

He believes he’s acting the way he is because of what she said, and she believes she’s acting as she is because of what he said.

And they’re both right. And wrong. Emotions, memories, and history distort and cloud memories and reactions. That’s a relationship.

Efloofzable

Efloofzable (floofinition) Easily beguiled or manipulated by an animal.

In use: “Everyone knew Bonnie was so efloofzable; a doe-eyed look from her dog, a smile from her cat, or the brush of fur against her skin stopped everything else as she asked her fur friends what they wanted and how she could make them happy.”

Friday’s Wandering Thought

His name is Michael. It’s a common and popular name in the U.S. That mildly irritated him on a tiny, personal island of thought. Sharing a name made him less special, knowing how silly such a response was. But there it was.

He couldn’t stop himself, though, from looking up and seeing what Michael was like whenever his name was called in a coffee shop. He frequently wanted to tell them, “Hey, my name is Michael, too.” The other Michaels usually looked like confident and intelligent people. He wondered how they would view him.

His complicated thoughts about his own name often made him chuckle to himself. He wondered if the other Michaels felt the same.

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