Someone stole my words.
Suddenly and casually and simply. As simply, casually and suddenly as walking to a coffee shop, past a white zen. Like how [yawn] boringly [yawn] routine [yawn] is that?
One moment they [words] were dashing around my head, ebullient, frolicsome, gurgling and straining to be tippity tappity typed in on my keyboard, and the next, not quite as predictably as this cliché, they were gone.
I went blue in the face with all the pushing and squeezing and knuckle clenching and eventual gasping. But. I was truly and horrifically wordless.
Apart, of course, from those few words and phrases that are so deeply ingrained in the subdermal regions of one’s psyche, that like trusted friends they never leave your side, even in your darkest hour. I could, still say things like “I’m hungry”, “You’re beginning to piss me off”, “arsehole”, “fark off” etc. Even "she sells sea shells on the sea shore". 21 times in a row, without a pause and no stray sheas and sores.
I couldn’t spill a single word on Word [my clever punnery (true, it isn’t yet a legit word in the English Dictionary) is yet intact, as you will appreciate].
I am back, to tell you that Laaaaavely Lizza clandestinely nominated one of my posts for the rising blogger. And Judd, an astute [you will agree once you see the SHOUT masthead on his site] blog critic with an aversion to insulting clichés [now how odd is that?!] from New York, decided to bestow us at Shout with The Rising Blogger Award.
La la la la la.
So I will leave you with this, no doubt brimful with admiration for your darling monster on blog, to brighten your day with yet another affirmation from the ether world that you do indeed have good taste.