Trump Logic
The Floof Commandments
The Floof Commandments (floofinition) – 1. The list of instuctions/guidance people give to animals about they want the animals to do, or not to do.
In use: “Whenever he let a cat out, he issued the Floof Commandments to be safe, be smart, stay out of the street and watch out for cars and trucks, don’t fight, stay close, and keep back soon.”
2. The instructions/guidance animals provide to people about what they want people to do, or not to do, and what the animals expect to be permitted to do.
In use: “The cat had firmly issued the Floof Commandments when she arrived: when you sit, she’ll take your lap (unless you’re on the computer, in which case, she wants the keyboard), the bed is hers (but if you’re nice, you can share it), all food belongs to her, and you’d better keep paying attention to her…or else!”
Cherry Floof
Cherry Floof (floofinition) – Floofmerican floof rock (flock) musical band. Formed in Floofbenville, Floofhio in 1970, they incorporated funk elements and found success, remaining active until 1979.
In use: “Cherry Floof found its greatest success with “Play that Floofy Music” in 1976, featuring the line, ‘Play that floofy music, white dog.'”
Floofworn
Floofworn (floofinition) – 1. State of weariness brought on by caring for animals.
In use: “Caring for his cat as it coped with cancer, he was floofworn, and sad that the inevitable seemed upon them.”
2. A tired, weary animal.
In use: “After Hurricane Katrina, they started picking up floofworn pets that they found, the beginning of a massive animal rescue operation.”
3. Something worn out or damaged by an animal’s constant use.
In use: “They’d given the little orphaned puppy a doll to cuddle with, and with the years he’d had it, it was floofworn and frayed.”
Mask Musing
We ninja up in the morning
slipping out at dawn
masks tight on our face
racing past icy lawns.
Visiting the grocery store
has sure become an task
but it beats the alternative
of being dead sick on our ass.
Floof Supply
Floof Supply (floofinition) – Flooflish/Floofstrailian soft floof rock (flock) duo formed in 1975. They experienced great success in the 1980s, releasing eight top ten hits in the Floofnited States.
In use: “One of Floof Supply’s biggest hits came in 1980, when “All Out of Food” hit the top ten in five different countries, including the Floofnited States.”
Floofsomnia
Floofsomnia (floofinition) – Inability to sleep, or tossing and turning at night, due to one or more animals’ behavior.
In use: “She was often suffering floofsomnia, with the cat rising at floof dark thirty to play and eat, and the dog taking up more of the bed until she found herself hanging on the edge.”
Floofvanism
Floofvanism (floofinition) – Exaggerated belief in the superiority of animals.
In use: “As greater acts of kindness and intelligence are videoed and shared on the net, like animals saving other animals from drowning, or cats rescuing puppies (and dogs saving kittens), a commiserate rise in floofvanism has been observed.”
Sunday Stewing
- Argued with my muse earlier this week. She told me, “Write this.” I replied, “But why? This is going in an unexpected direction.” Her response: “Just write it.” It was the disdainful tone she employed that precipitated the argument. I was all, “I’m the writer here. I’m in charge.” She loosed mocking laughter in answer. Eventually, she told me that I was obsessing over the novel’s concept to the detriment of the plot, story, and characters. Ouch. Harsh words.
- This kind of novel-writing confusion often happens to me. Wait, what am I doing? Where am I going? What’s supposed to happen? I’m a pantser, not an outliner. I generally want to know where the story goes and leave the details to my muse (or muses) to fill in for me. I’m a person prone to overanalyzing matters, though, why often helps me confuse myself. Sitting down and doing a session to address where I’ve gone awry generally puts me right. I often indulge in several of these sessions while writing a novel’s first draft.
- We were doing the laundry the other day. The dark load finished washing. I transferred it to the dryer. My wife loaded the washer with a load of whites. The dryer finished with the darks. I pulled them out, then put the whites in and went off and folded the darks. My wife was busy reading, so when the whites finished, I pulled them out and started folding them. As I did, I thought, what does she do to these socks? They’re not very clean. My wife, looking up from her reading, said, “Did you do the whites?” Her question confused me. “No, you did. I just put them in the dryer.” “Um, were they wet?” I thought back: actually, no. Sheepishly, chased by her laughter, I put the whites back into the washer. This happened two days ago; she’s still teasing me about it and laughing.
- Cancer strikes again. Another friend in the hospital with some cancer variation. One of those things that elicit a long sigh even as I intellectualize, well, it’s life and death, isn’t it? Where we all end. Yeah.
- My formerly broken arm (the left one) continues improving. Did pushups this week. First was just a half one. Lot of quivering arm with it, some mild pain, greater worry. I think worry was holding me back all along. The arm just remains so thin looking, and the wrist still doesn’t move right. Hence, my worry. But I’ve done more pushups since. This morning, I managed two sets of four. Yeah, baby, progress.
- Wrote this post during the AM hours. Then sat on it while I drank coffee and wrote like crazy. Now time to run to the library. They do a door service. Books are put on hold; we go to the door where a table is set up. They come out, we identify ourselves, and then the librarian goes in to find the books for us, check them out, and return. After the library, drop off some muffins to friends, then back home to eat a late lunch and rake leaves. Stay positive, test negative, and wear a mask.
Michael Seidel, writer 