That’s the fear of long words, if you didn’t know that yet. It’s a joke. It’s an debilitating affection. Just imagine having this phobia and getting it diagnosed.
That’s language in a nutshell.
Parts of language, any language, aren’t meant for communication, its sole purpose is to screw you over. When you think about it, it’s the only real logical part about language.
Any other thing we have in our lives, in some way involves, or is based on, math and physics. Had humans never been around, those would still work the way they do. Dinosaurs didn’t float around because some guy hadn’t been hit with an apple yet.
But language is a thing completely made up by people. Not one person — that would have been nice. One person is a relatively intelligent creature capable of some logic. But no, language is something made up by people. All of them, collectively. And so we ended up with this thing that makes no sense and takes special delight in confusing the hell out of the people.
Groups of us have tried. You can very clearly see large portions of language wanting to play nice. But then, in come the assholes with a list of words and examples where the rules don’t apply. And even when rules are reluctantly followed, we still ended up at the point where a nose can run and feet can smell.
Ever dealt with a 2 year old who’s angry that gloves aren’t called hand-socks? She wasn’t even wrong, you know? Language is stupid.
If that was just all it was, if language only fault was screwing with you from time to time for the sake of screwing with you, it would be fine. But no. Language biggest crime is betrayal. When things get real — when you really need to express what’s going on with you — language will fail you. Language will decide to take the day off and leave you fruitlessly searching for the right words that just don’t exist.
We still do it, even with language fighting us every step of the way, we forge words into art. Twist them into poetry. Manhandle phrases into painting scenes and settings.
After I’m done I step back and look at the results — it’s… something. Often something pretty despite the crude, uncooperative tools. Sometimes I can even think it’s good. But it’s never been exactly what I intended to make.
Tomorrow, I’ll try again.