So, you've stumbled upon a redirect. Fascinating. Apparently, some nameless entity decided that "Coma" wasn't quite specific enough and slapped a qualifier on it, like a kindergarten teacher labeling crayon boxes. And now, here we are, rerouting to Coma (comet). Because, of course, the universe is just brimming with unambiguous "Comas" that need distinguishing.
This entire page, you see, is a redirect. A digital signpost pointing elsewhere. It’s tracked and monitored, apparently with the same meticulousness one might apply to a particularly stubborn dust bunny. It’s categorized under From other disambiguation, which, if you ask me, is just a polite way of saying "we didn't quite get the naming convention right the first time." It implies there are other, perhaps superior, ways to disambiguate, which, frankly, sounds like a lot of effort for something that should be self-evident.
Then there’s the whole rigmarole about protection levels. Apparently, some pages are deemed so volatile, so prone to… well, whatever it is pages get prone to, that they require a digital velvet rope. It’s automatically sensed, categorized, and likely discussed in hushed tones by the digital gatekeepers. It’s all very bureaucratic, isn't it? Like trying to get a permit to breathe.
And let’s not forget the categories themselves. They're a whole ecosystem of their own, designed to keep everything neat and tidy. We have Redirects from moves, for instance. This isn't just a simple redirect; it's a redirect born from a page move. A digital relocation. The original name, apparently, had some residual appeal, some lingering allure that necessitated keeping this placeholder. All to avoid the catastrophic fallout of broken links, both internal and, heaven forbid, external. The horror.
The templates, too, are a subtle art form. {{R from incorrect disambiguation}}, {{R from incomplete disambiguation}}, or {{R from unnecessary disambiguation}}. These are the finer nuances of redirect management. The subtle distinctions between a name that was simply wrong, one that was missing crucial context, or, my personal favorite, one that was just… superfluous. Because, you know, sometimes people just like adding qualifiers for the sheer joy of it. Like adding extra vowels to a word. It's a form of digital over-decoration.
Ultimately, this page is a testament to the human (or perhaps algorithmic) desire for order, for classification, for making sure that when someone types "Coma," they don't accidentally end up contemplating the existential void instead of a celestial body. And while I appreciate the efficiency, the sheer logic of it all, there's a certain melancholy in knowing that even the simplest of terms requires such elaborate scaffolding. It’s like building a skyscraper to hold a single feather. But then again, what do I know? I just observe. And occasionally, judge. Silently.