‘i’m a little hungry.’

i have recently decided the two below sentences/phrases are becoming favorites of mine:

-‘i’m a little _______.’

-‘it isn’t awful.’

i swoon in their presence for at least two reasons:

1)  i’m a sucker for intentional understatement.

2)  i’m a bigger sucker for intentional understatement that also purposefully leaves open a rather large window of interpretation.

3)  i swoon easily.

‘i’m a little’ is most often, i think, a sweet lie.  ‘i’m a little’ really means ‘i am.’

or, perhaps ‘i am, but i don’t want to be’ or ‘i am but i’d rather it not show or affect the situation.’

‘i’m a little tired’ can mean ‘please take me home’ coming from a spouse or significant other who doesn’t want to appear to be giving orders.

‘i’m a little tipsy’ can mean ‘you can’t really judge what i have to say from here on out, but i hope we keep talking.’  (it can also mean, ‘i’m really effing tipsy, so just see what happens if you keep toeing the line.’)

‘i’m a little hungry’ = ‘if i don’t eat soon, i’m gonna throw a damn fit, turn into a whiny biatch, and/or bite your head off,’ especially if those words were muttered by the author of this post.

* * *

‘it isn’t awful.’

is . . . if i were discussing this in person, i’d be a little giddy with the potential meaning of such a sentence.  i would be pacing the room, spinning my wedding ring with my thumb, and looking for props.

‘it isn’t awful’ can mean anything.  it’s a swiss-army-knife of sentences.  it can be a dead pan delivery after trying the steak at the best restaurant in new york.  or a true, genuine compliment given to a first time baker when the collapsed cake still . . . isn’t awful.

it can be a disparaging insult masked in polite conversation when discussing someone else’s outfit at a social gathering.

it can be a confidence boost from one brother, walking with a slight limp, to the brother who still has yet to go get his whuppin’ from dad.

i love language because words, words like:

‘i’m a little _____’


‘it isn’t awful.’

tell the entire story and they don’t.  and i . . . i love it when language tells the story of us.  we tell our entire stories with our words but we don’t; we also tell that story with our body language, with what we do not say, with the tone or inflection of our deliveries.

i love that chase.

i love chasing the complete story – refusing to hear a story come to an end without leaning forward and asking,

‘. . . and?’

i’m nodding.

 i love refusing to ever believe the story is over, because i do not believe a complete story can ever actually be told.  it has to be hunted, pursued . . . the complete story needs to be desired, not expected.



the complete story, whatever is, to whomever it belongs,

needs to be
and not expected.

i think i’m done now.


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