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Eighth in my wordy-writing.  Please note that the theme for some of the words were “slang”, so you might want to look for the slang definition if it doesn’t quite make sense (for example, the word “rhubarb”).

Jacob was an orotund child, the victim of vagary. His father’s company had gone bankrupt, and due to his father’s gambling and grift, they were plunged into penury.

Where Jacob’s father was prone to jive and rhubarb activities, Jacob maintained his badinage and doughty resolve. His father’s clandestine ways were unable to break through the rampart Jacob had defended himself with. Even though his father claimed dibs on Jacob’s success, Jacob knew inside that his own sense of right and wrong, and his own adherence to his convictions had led him out of his father’s barren lifestyle, and Jacob was just jake with that.

 The seventh of my “wordy writing”.   Enjoy.

 

  A breeze soughed through the copse, sighing a soft pule, as if cringing at it’s advancement through the boughs. I’d always felt tutelary over this thicket. It has provided me safe haven against my father’s anger, that could excoriate before he bellowed his first word. My quidnunc of a stepmother could never stay out of it, and always had to put in her own spiteful inaccuracies. Their constant obloquy had led me fleeing, right into the arms of my beloved grove.

My grove, whose lush green branches were daedal with life and welcome. The way the wind whispered through their leaves gave a feeling of love and encomium. While their embrace was only palliate to my eleemosynary woes at home. I have never forgotten my refuge during those hard times. The copse was my symbol of strength and survival when I was certain of failure. It could countervail the desperation at home.

Amy was a gravid woman, shining with an effulgence only pregnant women seem to possess.   Carrying her child was salutary to her.  I aver, she was the most ebullient person I’ve ever encountered, almost to the point of nimiety.   It didn’t take much prescience to know things would turn ugly when she hooked up with Greg.

 

Greg was a bilious man,  with a sanguine face, making him look much like a tomato.  While he could put on a phlegmatic appearance to the outside world, behind closed doors he became quite cholericand often beat Amy so badly she feared she’d lose the baby.  As dreadful as it was, when the call came that Amy had been a victim of a murder-suicide, it really came as no surprise. 

 

The only brightness that shown through that melancholic event was the miracle the paramedics performed, by saving Baby Erin- Amy’s beautiful living legacy.

This one is wholey generic.  Very Generic.  But hey, I wrote it, and that has to count for something, right? I am tight for time this morning, so I’m just posting the story, and will link the definitions later this evening (if I remember). 

 

Fishing Four-

His father, the one with the keen eye, espied them first.  The pother of fish neared the boat, swimming through the turbulent waters.  Father held a grig with his purlicue, and quickly attached it to the gaff.  When the bite came, Boy quickly grabbed the trammel and landed the large fish onto the boat’s floor.  Cajoling their success, they filleted and skinned the meat.  The Boy drug the growler to them, removed the remaining beer, and carefully packed the meat inside. 

 

Leaning back to relax, Boy rejoiced in the compadrism these trips gardnished, and relished the veneration it strengthened between Father and him. While Mother was often abstemious in her attentions to him, prefering instead to cosset Daughter, Father always had time for him.  Even though he was prone to horatory speeches about the state of politics, economics, or whatever was on CNN that week, the Boy cherished these trips.

This week’s words: decuman, tessera, atone, heatomb, decussate, depredation, fillip (as a noun), pejorative, sagacious, avoirdupois, sybarite, and tacitum

Just so you all know, I am wholeheartedly unhappy with this week’s (last week’s) writing, which is why it’s taken me so long to post it. I had the front line caught in my head all week, so knew it would be centered around that, but this just does not flow the way I want it to. Of course, having to use specific words did not help me any. I just may come back to it and redo it at a later time though.

I Sleep With The Gods

I sleep with the Gods.
Fate and Luck bound to decussate.
Opportunity for my avoirdupois soul
Or penance, thus.
This is my atonement.

I sleep with the Gods;
Sybarites in their own world
With little regard to Earth beneath them.
They have become taciturn to us.
We are insignificant.

I sleep with the Gods.
Their embrace a depredation.
Ravaging my Spirit.
A hecatomb to Love.
I am bound to them all.

I sleep with the Gods.
My subjugation their fillip.
Their sagacious passion for me
Is pejorative to my heart.
They are my existence.

I sleep with the Gods.
Broken sun through the tessera.
My decuman heart stretching;
Only a moment until it breaks
Sending tendrils of sorrow throughout the Universe.

I sleep with the Gods.
I am boundless, endless.
My breath extending beyond Eternity.
I sleep with the Gods,
Therefore I am.

This week’s words: plushy , cotton , woolley , flannel , tweedy , exigency , equanimity , pernicious , fey , satiety , immure, and  buss

 

Wordy, Too

 

Marcus was a tweedy man.   He stood tall and thin, his cheeks gaunt but his eyes sharp and bright under his bespectacled eyes.  He had spent the past 30 years as an English Lit instructor at the state’s largest college.  The job gave his soul an unparalled sense of satiety that none other came close to.  He cottoned well with his students, and possessed an almost fey-like ability to relate to them.  They respected and praised his equanimity when disagreements erupted, and his ability to placate those who were upset.

 

It came as a complete shock to everyone when a young female student named Trina Regent went to the college dean and filed a formal complaint against him, claiming he had forced himself on her.  Of course, this was an exigency to the school board, and Marcus was immediately suspended while the investigation ensued. 

 

Marcus remembered Trina well.  She was a pretty young girl, vibrant green eyes and fire red hair.   She was popular among the men in the school, but she had no interest in them.  Trina did seem to be interested in Marcus though.  She would put little doodles on some of her paperwork;  Innocent enough with hearts and such, but with her and his initials inside.  Something you would expect from elementary students, though, not college aged.  She often threw him busses, and laid the flannel on thick.  She would stay after class often, engaging small talk and offering her assistance.  He appreciated the help, and had on occasion found tasks for her to do.  At first, her behavior did not bother him, and he figured she just had a small crush, but he did not take it seriously.  However, as her advances became more aggressive, he finally had to pull her aside and let her know he felt it highly inappropriate and told her she needed to stop.  He also said he thought it better if she no longer stayed after class.  She had seemed to handle it fine; as she just nodded and told him she respected that.   She no longer offered to stay after.   The semester had ended a couple weeks afterwards, and he forgot about it. 

 

Now, he sat at home, unable to step foot on the school grounds, wondering how the hell he didn’t see this coming, and kicking himself for being so gullible and stupid.  He sat in his plush library chair, immured in his head, trying to comprehend. It had been nine days since he had been suspended, and he had heard nothing.   His thoughts felt woolly and the knowledge of how pernicious the situation was made him nauseous.   

 

He moved to pick up the phone and dial the school’s President, Ms. Laura Vinta, when his doorbell rang.  He opened it, to find Laura standing there.  Dread filled his stomach.  Why would she show up at the door other than to tell him bad news?  He glanced behind her, and saw no police though.  He moved to let her in, and she stepped inside. 

 

“I take it you have news for me?” he asked, wincing at the quaver in his voice.  He felt as though he might vomit from nervousness.  He couldn’t remember ever being so afraid of someone’s words. 

 

Then Laura smiled a thin smile at him.  “Trina apparently has a history, Marcus.” She said, seating herself in one of his living chairs.  “May I have a drink?” 

 

Her question caught him off guard.  He looked blankly at her, trying to put the two sentences together, and fit in where his situation stood.  He nodded quickly, and poured them both a glass of Cabernet.  As he handed it to her, she motioned for him to sit.  He did so, vaguely aware of the comedy of her directing him in his own home just as she did others in her office. 

 

“I want to start by letting you know that you are off the hook.”  She started, sipping her wine.  Relief flooded Marcus, and he felt his body relax as the anxiety slipped from his tensed muscles.  He grinned stupidly at her. 

 

“Oh.  Thank goodness.” He sighed.  “What happened?”

 

“It appears that Miss Regent has a track record.   However, it took some time to uncover, since she has operated under a number of aliases.   She enrolls in various institutions across the state, befriends a male instructor or administrator, and then claims sexual harassment.  She will come in and try to get the school to settle out of court.    It amazes me that this has worked for her in the past.  Luckily, there have been some who actually pursued the allegation legally.  She always vanished before they could get anywhere with it though.  It had raised flags, though, since her MO always was the same.  Word had been sent out to institutions that hadn’t yet been hit warning them “  Laura sat back in her chair,  visibly relaxing.  Marcus realized she must have been under tremendous stress herself. 

 

“But she didn’t just accuse me of harassment, Laura. “ he mentioned.

 

“Yes- which is one of the reasons we weren’t immediately sure that it was the same person.  We contacted the authorities and sent them her school photo, and the allegations.  We are lucky they were able to get back to us so quickly.  They verified that it was indeed, the same gal. I guess she had gotten confident and thought she could get more from an actual rape accusation.  We had her come in to ‘make a deal’, and the police were there to escort her out. “ she scoffed.

 

Laura leaned forward, her expression becoming even more serious.   “ I want you to know that I never believed her for a second, Marcus.” She said to him.  “I don’t think any of us did.”

 

“There will be those who do.” He sighed.  “It’s bound to happen.  Even with the truth out, there will be repercussions for the school because of it, and I apologize for that.  I should have known better than to let her stay after class with her behavior.  My instinct failed me this time.”  He ran a dry hand across his face. 

 

“You don’t worry about that.” Laura said, standing to go.  She shook his hand, and then surprised him by giving him a brisk hug.  “I expect you to report back to work first thing tomorrow morning.” She said, grinning. 

 

“Yes, ma’am!” Marcus replied, his own grin beaming across his face.

 

Well, here we go. I promised to take my “word of the day”s each week and combine them into a singular post. I worked on this today. I must admit, I threw it together in about a half hour, because I had forgotten about it. So, it’s a bit muddy, but I know you’ll forgive me.

This weeks words are as follows:
brachiate , wend , pretermite , cadge , dissimulate , munificent , exigency , bombinate , odium , abnegate , unctuous , querulous

I have a tendency to bombinate on and on in my head about my odium for the stagnation my life has become. For some, life has an unctuous quality, allowing them to sail smoothly through without complaint.
I, however, am quite querelous about the exigency of changing myself. I have been wending my way through life, brachiating from one path to the other without much thought to my own welfare or happiness. I have been munificent on doing whatever it takes to please everyone around me, while being pretermit about what needs to be done for me, thereby abinegating my own sense of satisfaction or contentment.
Consequently, I have been on somewhat of a subconscious level reaching out to others, dissimulating my attempts to cade them into saving me from allowing my sense of of Self to wither away.