Initiative comes to thems that wait.

Holy shit box, it’s August.

With a new month, comes new expectations. None that I’ll rise to, but still.

In other news, did I mention that I’m learning Latin? Also known as the language of love (or armor inopiae) (lack thereof). When I imparted this in passing to the dubious fuckers who populate my working life, they responded thus:

  1. You’re such a random geek.
  2. Quôcumque, collega. (Whatever, dude.)
  3. Wow, I’m impressed! (aka I thought you were stupid?)

My teacher is a sweet fuddy-duddy of a man with a little-boy haircut slicked in gel and grey. Wrapped in scarves and soliloquy, steeped in comprehension and corduroy, he is the typical product of university … where time crawls and knowledge is fermented to become fruitful at a later date. I imagine he’s been corked and lain on his side for a decade, and now is a ‘good year’ ready to be drunk in. He speaks like Lemony Snicket’s Stephano and runs off on so many tangents as to leave your ear panting for punctuation.

Somewhere, he’s still finishing his sentence.

To be said like the cured cop in Kill Bill.

As for my classmates, it’s like a director carefully cast a reverse group of oddballs to star in an ensemble drama. Or like Judy Blume with wrinkles. And a staunch lack of eye contact. I like to think I’m the well-adjusted one and they’re simply scholastic serial-killers.

Meanwhile, I prematurely bonded with one guy, it prematurely became awkward and now I prematurely plan to avoid him at future classes. Such is my example of how to follow the arc of a relationship whilst skipping over the relationship itself entirely. My theory, either I’m too susceptible to and therefore sunken by subtext, or I’m a romantic athlete – shaving off the seconds it takes to get from intro to veto. (Roughly the time it takes to exhale on a sigh.)

If nothing else, ’tis indeed lovely to languish in language. To bathe in brogue … washing my neck with words of whimsy … scrubbing ‘twixt my toes with declensions and clause.

I’d like to think I won’t become one of those wankers who quote Latin at parties and correct your sneezes for grammatical errors, but I can’t promise anything. If it helps, there are fully fledged wankers at the ready, so consider me merely an understudy in the LA of life.

About the wuc

I'm a chick living in Australia, working for the man. I hate office work with a passion usually reserved for James Cameron, but somehow I ended up with a career behind a desk, stapling my forehead at random intervals.

28 Responses to “Initiative comes to thems that wait.”

  1. Verbum, meus domus canis!

  2. Now you will get the jokes in the old Monte Python movies, and finally understand what the priest is saying up there. Neither will be as funny as you thought.

  3. I had Latin for 9 years, then I graduated from High School… I guess I don’t really have a reason for sharing this but wanted to do so..! Happy Latin studies!

    • Crackers. Thanks for sharing, New York. I always wondered, do you retain any of it? Will it leak from my cranium as the years progress? Quod a rort!

  4. Staunch lack of eye contact in class?? Language classes I always thought to be the one class where you had to talk with other people to learn. Is Latin an unspoken language?

  5. Oh, and who needs latin when you can come up with a thing of beauty such as “…Wrapped in scarves and soliloquy, steeped in comprehension and corduroy…” ? Wuc, you wucin’ rock.

  6. Latin and I conspire to be uneasy bedfellows circling each other warily, a Billy Idol sneer on my lips, a perfectly formed sentence on hers (she’s female you know, Latin) But all I ever seem to panhandle from this deluge of golden language is the saying ‘Non illegitimo carborundum’….don’t let the bastards grind you down….it’s stark in its simplicity, but it works for me.

    • You just don’t see Billy Idol sneers often enough these days – a perfectly non-formed sentence in their own right and a worthy comeback to a worthy adversary, amicus magnus.

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