Words

I love words.

I don't think you understand completely. Love, the word, is thrown about haphazardly. But I love words. I appreciate words. I adore words. I cherish words. I delight in words. I am enchanted by words. I am passionate bout words.

My knees go weak when I read a thesaurus.

It's not a guilty passion, because words, though they are abundant with life and possibilities are, in fact, inanimate and, therefore, they do not have an intimate significance. I cannot exactly go to bed with words, sleep with them, etc. My husband cannot be cheated by words. I cannot be charged or condemned for my utter pleasure I endure when utilizing language.  

So why don't I play with them more often?

Let me re-phrase, because I love to do so:

For what reason do I refrain from employing my joyous habit commonly referred to as "writing?"

I am releasing this question into my blog with no answer because I plainly do not have one.


What do I have? An over-extensive vocabulary, and commodious space for that vocabulary to proliferate.

And, of course, I have dictionary.com, and thesaurus.com, and webster.com, and wordthink.com.... and so many other wonderful sites to use on a dreary, unproductive, habitual day.

I was having a parturient  (see definition 3) moment earlier. I was thinking of how to best decorate my room in our new house - the room Les calls my "bitch cave," I believe.

Then it occurred to me. I need words. I need words on my walls in my writing room.

I designed posters for my room. I used words. I used more words. I read definitions. 

I love words. I love them. I need them. 

Words will cover my walls and my decorating dilemma. 

{Zeugma}.

Words will be on my wall, they will be my escape, they will be defined, they will be undefined, they will be framed, they will be the coolest decorations ever.

{Uber Zeugma}.

=c)

Yes, I am aware of my nerdiness. I am proud of it.