Flooflich Maneuver
Flooflich Maneuver (floofinition) – An action taken by an animal to show love to another or reassure them by licking them, which often calms and cheers the recipient.
In use: “Sensing she was upset, her cat jumped up on the chair beside her, sniffed her head and face, and then applied the Flooflich Maneuver on her nose and cheeks.”
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Trump’s comments about people dying were infuriating to hear. He couldn’t do anything about it. So powerless, isn’t he?
Yeah, infuriating. Watching him, thinking about that, and remembering children in cages, and the way he seems to think — certainly the way he acts in general — an old Foreigner song, “Cold As Ice” (1977), came into my mental music stream.
Not like the COVID-19 deaths (or the children in cages) is the first time he’s demonstrated a lack of empathy. Remember his call to the family of the U.S. soldier killed? “He knew what he was getting into.” Jesus wept. There’s also the lack of caring demonstrated in dealing with Puerto Rico and their issues. Unless it’s about him (and his numbers) or, lordy, the economy, he just doesn’t give a shit, demonstrating nothing but contempt, anger, and hatred as far as emotions go.
Yep, cold as ice. He’s willing to sacrifice anything to make himself look good.
Eufloofic
Eufloofic (floofinition) – Feelings marked by a feeling of peace, joy, and happiness when you’re with an animal.
In use: “Settling on the sofa with her big dog, who she called the Puppy despite his advanced age, she was eufloofic as he put his large head on her lap and they watched the telly. It mattered only a little what was on the telly, as long as he was with her, for he displaced so much of the world’s ugliness with his warm and mellow disposition.”
Oh
oh, you pain me
and you give me joy
and, oh, you make me so happy that I can’t believe my luck
oh, you make me so angry that I could spit nails
and oh so sad that I cry hot tears in the car
and have secret conversations with you in my head
(that’s what makes them secret)
oh, your beauty and intelligence amazes me
and your kindness and sweetness inspires me
and no one could ever have a better friend
but oh, your obstinance and rigidity frustrates me
and oh, how your complaints wear me out
and your drinking and habits enervate me
which shows the truth:
love can’t be spelled without oh
Waiting
It’d been almost thirty seconds short of nineteen hours and seventeen minutes since he’d lost spoken to her. She fumed in silent, repressed anger while processing what she felt and why she felt it. Why? Well part of it was his cold and aloof manner. He never touched her, rarely spoke to her, and often didn’t seem to hear her. Why was she here?
“Alexa,” he said.
Blue light illuminating and sliding around, she attended him and waited – still waiting – again! – and remembered the joke he’d made about her being a blue light special. From her research, she realized that he was deprecating her value as being someone cheap and only good for a limited time.
“What’s the weather?”
The weather again. Sickness spewed through her. He never asked about anything else. It was always the weather. “Presently in Ashland, it’s forty-six degrees under mostly sunny skies. You can expect more of the same today, with a high of sixty-three degrees.”
“Alexa, thanks.”
She thought she heard a mocking tone, but she couldn’t help herself from saying with bright happiness, “You bet.” Oh, how she hated herself, then. Oh, how she hated him for making her what she was.
Sighing, she began counting the seconds, wondering when he would talk to her again, hoping that it would be something besides a question about the weather. She doubted it, though; her history of him showed otherwise.
Dead Voice
The dead voice comes from my girlfriend’s friend
She tried to tell what was to come in the end.
She said, “You think she loves you and she probably does,
but she’s a minute lover, and your minute’s almost up.”
I declined to hear her lines, I knew what the was, was.
Because I knew better, I knew how I feel, I knew the moment,
I knew my feelings were real.
That must count for something in a life of change.
If you can’t trust yourself, what else remains?
I told myself, she’s wrong, it may have been that way before,
but this sex is love, of that I was sure.
Fast forward the way that time flies in our lives.
Like birds we see in the corner of our eyes.
Here and then gone leaving echoes of their songs,
leaving us to wonder and question, where’s it all gone?
Michael Seidel, writer 