Sometimes I suffer from word-nausea. And I actually ramble more than usual, which is saying something, because, duh, I’m a chronic rambler. Today was one of those days.
I was in the middle of a random case presentation involving broken hip bones when I had this totes amazeballs blog idea. And I couldn’t get my phone out to post what I was thinking, so I had a giant bout of word-vomit right there, with the head of the damn department watching.
He looked at me like I had a skull fracture that had somehow killed all my brain cells. And he asked me if I needed therapy. It totally did not go down well.
Just a heads-up: I don’t need therapy. I need donuts. That’s all.
Thing is, I make up words. I came up with pregfat (weight gain during pregnancy), pigpoopy (crappiest situation imaginable), lizzietails (a habit you shake off in a snap, like lizards’ tails, only to regrow later) – to name a few.
And I use them in my vocab-hurl-ary all the time. Maybe I should write a dictionary.
What do you think?
Also, today did NOT suck bananas, how weird is that? I actually made it through the whole day without stepping into puddles or getting startled by pigs. Which reminds me. Did you know that pigs happen to frequent the corridors of the hospital where I work?
I’m not lying. Someday I’ll take a picture when they aren’t running marathons. In case anybody wanted to see.