I call myself a writer. Like, I’ve been blogging since 2005. That kind of makes me a writer, right? And someone offered me a book publishing deal, which means that at least one other person believes I am sort of literally competent. When I was a kid I’d write thinky things, things that looked pretty, things that sounded nice in my head, for as long as I can remember. I’ve been a reader for even longer than that. I remember my mom introduced me to reading books after my first heart-break, when I was 12 years old. Before then it’d always been compulsory reading at school for marks at the end of the year. I had convinced myself that reading was for nerds and I was not a nerd. But after that heart-break holiday, I read my first Sweet Valley High book and I was a goner.
The rest of my life happened, and bombs could go off next to me but if I was reading I’d hardly notice at all. At camping holidays, on road trips, even at friends’ houses, I’d be reading. And learning words. And making up how I thought those words would sound. I’ll spend years waiting for the right chance to say a word I’ve learned. And when I get that chance it’s all terribly exciting for me. Until I get the word wrong.
One of those words was hyperbole.
Hyper-bowl. That’s how it’s pronounced according to me. And hyper-bowl is how it was pronounced today when I finally got the chance to say it out loud for the first time ever, after learning about the word 8 years ago. Except, thanks to the looks of utter confusion from my office mates at work when they were trying to figure out what I was trying to say, I found out that it’s actually pronounced ‘hyperbow-lee’.
One of my longest awaited words to say out loud. Dashed, decimated and destroyed, forever more.
Hyper-bowl, my ass.
Anyway, speaking of hyper-bowls. My favourite blogger is back, after a year’s hiatus due to depression. And she came back with a banger of a post. She gives me blogger talent envy, every time I read her.
Brick layers