Being

Time races by

A flash of a second

A flutter of thought

The mess of a moment

Dreams flood in and fade away

Nothing seems to stay

For more than a day

Emotions arrive

In a moment’s wash

Soaking every other feeling

And thought

Debilitating and deepening, stealing thunder

Leaving us worked over

Tired

Feeling plundered

Thinking comes

Arriving from odd angles

Hooked by a word

A sound

A gaze at another

From all of it comes

Thoughts of life

Ways to improve

Methods to lesson our strife

So we go on our intelligent ways

Being

Coping

Seeing

Trying to look beyond the day

Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

Sort of funny how we use the word charge and how its meanings has shifted.

We used to say things like, “Then he charged at me,” or, “That animal charged me.”

More often for a while, we heard charge in, “He was charged with the crime of soliciting,” or “He was charged with drunk driving.”

Later, charging things via credit cards were in vogue, such as, “I’m going to charge it for now, and then I’ll pay it off later.”

Now we say, “I didn’t charge my phone and now it’s almost dead. I have to find a charger.” Imagine hearing that forty years ago, if you’ve been alive that long. What were you charging in 1985?

Of course, imagine back in 1970 if someone asked you, “Do you have a laptop?” You’d think they were crazy, asking such a question.

C’est la vie.

Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

This is just a weird household fact. Weird isn’t even the right word. Really, just something noted.

Here in our household, the clothes washer is just called the washer, or the washing machine. But the dishwasher is always fully said with both words, even though it’s been morphed into one. Examples:

“I’m going to put some stuff into the washer and do a load.” That would be the clothes washer.

“Should we turn on the dishwasher?” Self explanatory.

And now, as I’m writing it out to understand what I think about this, I see how much context plays into the whole scheme. Like, we don’t collect dirty clothes into the washer and then announce that we need to do a load. No, that’s all more systematic. We put the dirty clothes into a wheeled basket. When it’s full or one of us has a specific need for something to be washed.

I’d attributed it to our upbringing. I’m 69. My wife is a year younger. Her family never had a dishwasher. Dishes were always washed by hand. My family acquired their first dishwasher when I was eleven. Mom bought it on sale at Sears for Mother’s Day. So I thought that my wife and I grew up with clothes washers but dishwashers came later. Hence the difference.

Could be a bit of both, I suppose. As a final aside, my wife announced on Friday, “I’m going to wash clothes. Do you need to put anything in there? I’m doing darks.”

“No, I have nothing.”

I went off and did something in the other room. When I came back, she accosted me. “We had so many dirty clothes that I had to split it up into two loads.” She gestured back at the machine. “Why are you wearing so many clothes? Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“I’m just following the norm,” I replied. “You know, clean shirt, clean underwear, clean socks. Just one of each a day. Except socks. I wear a pair of them. I usually wear my pants a few times before washing them.”

“You need to be less clean,” she replied.

I laughed. Being told to be ‘less clean’ was definitely a first.

Thirstdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’m in the coffee shop this week. Conversations swirl like loose leaves on an autumn breeze. I zone in and out. That’s guided by the Writing Neurons. Sometimes, they fuse a solid grip on my focus, and I notice nothing outside of the scenes in my head and the words on the screen. When they let go, I generally look up to breathe, blink, take in some water and coffee.

Lo, I hear words then. “Bro’, are you going to blah blah blah?” This is one young female talking to another. I suspect they’re high schoolers. We’re two blocks from the high school and youth is oozing out of them.

“No, bro, I can’t, got to blah blah blah.”

I’m taken by how “bro'” has evolved in use. I’ve used bro’ for decades with males of all colors, ages, positions, and relationships. Never, though, never, with a woman. Took a while for me to accept hearing and calling females ‘guys’. Guys was always…um, a guy thing…to me.

“Bro’,” a young female says to her young male companion. Appearing to be about fifteen, sixteen, they speak and move with BF/GF intimacy. She goes on to talk to him about tonight’s dinner. Later, I hear him say, “Bro’, I gotta fly.”

They rise together and hold hands, two bros moving into the world, progressing in life, changing languages, changing expectations.

I think to them, good luck, bro’.

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.

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

While driving on an errand, I heard a radio DJ — do they still call them that? — talking about boomers. “Boomers hate the word seniors and are out to change it,” she said. “Sorry, boomers, but you can’t. You must own what you are.”

I laughed. I’m a boomer. “Sorry, sugar,” I answered the radio. “I’m a boomer. I don’t need to do anything. I can make up and apply terms and use them as I want. Says so on the net. Just ask Trump. He’s always making things up.” Of course, Trump makes things up in a bad way. I think I do it in a good way.

For the record, I’m not a senior. Nor do I ‘age’. I’m leveling up, as in a video or internet game. The higher your level, the rarer and more special you are. I think this works, as it aligns with some thinking that reality might be a cosmic video game, a simulacrum.

For the record, I’ve at level 69. Mom celebrates level 90 next month and Dad celebrates level 93.

Thirstda’s Wandering Thoughts

When I publish a post, WordPress sometimes suggests tags. “Would you like to add these tags?” I look at them. Some suggestions baffle me. I don’t see a connection to the post. I believe I already have others included. I delete the one that seems unrelated and agree to add the rest. The system then tells me, no tags added.

So, the whole process undermines my confidence in WP. If the tags are already there, why doesn’t it recognize them and suggest that they get added? Also, how good is its ‘comprehension’ of what’s being posted if it’s suggesting tags which have nothing to do with the post?

I don’t know. It’s probably just me and my compulsive anal retention obsessions or something.

Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

Another meaningless irritation has crowded my thoughts. I read a headline:

21-year-old sailor Angelina Resendiz goes missing from Navy barracks in Virginia

My thoughts traveled the well-used circuits of curiosity and concern along the lines of, what happened to her, and I hope she’s alright.

Another part of me rose up with irritation about ‘goes missing’.

I know. It’s a well-established idiom but it annoys me. It’s right up there with ‘I was thinking in my head’. I’ll spare you my irritation with that one. ‘Gone’ missing and its companion phrases like ‘went’ missing irk me. They’re added and unneeded words. They’re unthinking words to me and don’t add understanding. If anything, using that idiom distracts from the news being imparted because some of us pause to note they’ve used the idiom, which is pretty lazy writing.

Anyway, I hope the culinary specialist is found safe. I would add, ‘unharmed’ because that’s what I often read. But…well, you can probably guess why I don’t.

Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

I learned more new stuff yesterday. I’d never heard of ‘reverse harem’. So I looked it up: romance where a woman has multiple love interests.

In the course of exploring that, I discovered vore, a shortening of vorarephilia: an erotic desire to be eaten or to consume someone. I’ve never had such a desire and it’s alien to me. But I can see how it can be a part of a character or plot. Imagine building this into stories about aliens or time travel. How ’bout a vore time-traveler with an erotic interest in eating other time-travelers? Or a human with a desire to be eaten by aliens?

Then I learned about agnotology: the study of deliberate, culturally induced ignorance or doubt.

I’m constantly amazed by how little I know. I definitely need to expand my spheres of thinking and socializing.

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