Malapropism to Volubility

As I prepare for the GRE, I am trying to improve my acumen, especially by integrating new vocabulary words into my speech. While precise language can make conversation more pellucid, sometimes too much prolixity can attenuate communication. So, here goes an experimental blog that might be a bit gauche.


I do feel some diffidence as I apply for graduate school. Studying for the GRE leaves me torpid, but I continue inculcating despite sleepiness, because it’s important for me to be accepted to UW. I have also had to suppliant past employers and professors for letters of recommendation. I have been nonplused by the willingness for them to help me. I hate to say that I expected them to have more cupidity about their free time, but I’m glad that their openness has gainsaid my worries.

The other day I was thinking about some of the philistine people in the world, and how they presumptuously think they are sagacious. They try to disabuse you by telling you what to do with your life, but after such a lecture, I feel more deceived. The words they say is more like effluvia of nonsense. Their temerity and self-righteousness are startling.

I am enjoying my new connubial lifestyle. We have a convivial life, full of comfort and happiness. It took me sometime to winnow my dating choices and finally choose a mate. But, finally I disgorged myself to Robert’s love. Before, my uppity attitude may have gotten me the label of virago, because being a part of my Hungarian family makes it difficult to be phlegmatic. With Robert’s succor, I have found a calm balance in my life.



My parents are both interesting characters. My father, always the raconteur, tells lots of stories and jokes. Sometimes his stories are familiar and proverbial, other times they are just desultory. My mother could be strict and had a collection of sententious phrases to try and motivate me to work hard. While my father can lucubrate and niggle through the smallest details on almost any academic subject, he is far from magniloquent. My mom is a collector of many things, and sometimes we’ve fought over what I’ve considered her fulsome pursuits. My mother has accused me of being overweening. She also enervates my criticism when she brings up my large collection of clothing and shoes.