Word Invocation

I am a wordphile who suffers from logorrhea, logomania, and verbal constipation. How can that be? Easy: I love words too much and sometimes am so overwhelmed by my passion for them that I swoon and hit the edge of the coffeetable, am struck linguistically impotent, become a raving idiot.

The innumerable word relationships possible; the infinite combinations of letters; coming face to face with lexicons that creak under the strain of generations of etymylogical maps and guideposts, previously charted territory just waiting to be revisited and explored: It's a little overwhelming. (And that is the opposite of hyperbole--is the word for that simply understatement? It seems there must be a grander word than that for it!)

My vocabulary is abysmal. There are so many nuances of precision that I miss as I lumber inelegantly toward understanding. I urge myself to be more promiscuous with my language and my search for word wisdom, handle language like the well-worn currency of several nations: I'd like a larger safe, I'd like a larger account, I'd like to move up to a vault-load of currencies I can be facile with.

That is my hope, and the above is my condition, so this is my invocation to Athena and Aphrodite together: Do not let my love control me, but help me to glide with it, accept its warm caress, and allow it to (Greek goddesses willing) lead me toward wisdom and ardent engagement in an intercourse whose fruit displays both mind and heart.

(So did I just betray a lesbian love fantasy here or what?)