Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end.
So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.
I cannot find the word sometimes... very frustrating. That seems to be what you're experiencing.
However, if I need to say it in French (more so than my other languages) then it's better for me just say it and translate. More like what Andrea faces.
"I can know exactly what I want to write and then, seconds later, when I come to the point of typing the most important word, I find it’s gone. It matters not that I knew the word mere moments ago, somehow it has departed my brain and refuses to return."
Thank you ... I don't feel so bad knowing I'm not alone in this. These days it seems to take forever to write something.
It can be a medical thing, really, and we shouldn't make light of it around here. There are many different language impediments that come after strokes or with dementia.
And you know what? You were once a billion times smaller than that little speck. We all began as a single cell in our mother's womb. Pretty awe-inspiring, huh?
I had cause this morning to look up the words to the nursery rhyme, Miss Polly Had a Dolly. To my surprise, I found that the British version has one small but significant difference from the American. Here’s the version Google knows:
Miss Polly had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick
And she called for the doctor to come quick, quick
The doctor came with his bag and his hat
And he knocked at the door with a rat-a-tat-tat
He looked at the dolly and he shook his head
And he said, "Miss Polly, put her straight to bed"
He wrote on a paper for a pill, pill, pill
I'll be back in the morning if the baby's still ill
The only difference in the Brit poem is in the last line, which goes:
I'll be back in the morning with my bill bill bill
Apart from the facts that the words hark back to an earlier time when doctors still travelled to the patient, and that the poem’s origins are shrouded in mystery, reality insists that I prefer the British version.
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