verbage of the rotund variety

And so....
there's this thing I love. It's called words. (if you've ever chatted with me you've probably noticed. I mean, Mrs. Walters didn't call me a chatterbox in first grade for nothing!)
*Grapes has inherited this inherent talent, curse, situation. From me, obviously, because my sweet husby is decidedly the strong, silent-ish type. Grapes is a constant dialogue box from the moment she wakes until even after she's asleep (sometimes). And then it makes the doctor laugh when I ask her to talk less. Irony or something.
Where was I?

Ah, yes. Words.
I have a new found love and fear of this language. With this blog and this story I've been writing/tediously typing through, I have come to truly LOVE the moment of finding the right words to fully express the meaning I intend. I have also grown to agonize over and fear the result of every word combination.

There is a permanence to words that I have only just become clearly aware of.

There is significance in words, even if it is unintended
and accountability for ideas unclearly defined.
And there is responsibility for the words you choose or don't choose.
Whether speaking or typing or penciling (and I do love a good sharpened pencil!)
select with care the message, or the message will be selected for you.



so...... no pressure, right?