Big Words

Perhaps it seems a bit silly (which somehow means blessed? Or is it the other way around?), but I've been giving myself quite a few pats on the back for stepping out of my comfort zone and making your acquaintance. (And now the roommate is mushy-talking to her boyfriend, who happens to be my cousin, which is disconcerting and irritating and now I'm totally distracted.) At the same time, my comfort zone of words and editing seems to have been invaded--I find myself checking the dictionary half the time to make sure I'm spelling something write or that I understand what you are saying. Tonight was a vocab night, albeit a vocabulary that I've already started to learn.

1. Poetaster. Noun. An inferior poet. Also a workshopping group that meets once a week to, well, workshop poetry. I've known about it for two years now, ever since JD announced it in our contemporary American poetry class, and I fumed because I didn't like the name. Well, that was the reason I said I wasn't going. I'm not sure why I didn't. Too shy, too self-conscious. Plus I've never thought as myself as a poet or one who writes poetry, so I didn't know if I belonged. I'm still not sure, but I enjoy it.

2. Triangles. No part of speech can contain it. And I'm still not entirely sure what it is. But apparently I'm a green who frequently flips purple. Questions? Me too.

As a final thought, I saw Lizzie tonight. Or rather she saw me as she ran past. And she was right. I do know everything about London--and other things.