A Brief Selection from the Pandemic Brain Dictionary

The pandemic has mangled my ability to think. My brain’s mostly written off the idea of producing coherent strings of thought. It’s a buzz of half-formed fears and anxieties that can’t figure out how to voice themselves. Occasionally, though, single words will push themselves through the static, like little missives from one part of my brain to another that got shuffled down the wrong path. Here’s a short collection of the those words that I’ve found myself lingering on, either from nuances in their meaning that I’ve probably just imagined, or because they sound fun.

skosh - a word for a little of something. A touch, a dash, a pinch. A smidge. If you’d asked me, I’d have guessed it was Yiddish, maybe? Turns out it’s from the Japanese sukoshi, meaning “a small amount,” apparently having been picked up and condensed by U.S. servicemen stationed in Japan.

iridescent - almost sounds like elvish, lots of precise front-of-mouth movement. It’s one of the words that conjures the strongest immediate visualizations, for me at least: all peacock feathers and seashell chips. Is there a word for when something sounds like how it looks? Iridescent is that.

bankrupt - unfortunately, a word we’re hearing a lot lately. Its roots are pretty obvious—bank meaning what you’d think, and “-rupt” as in rupture as in break. But I can’t see “rupt” without immediately jumping to “eruption,” giving the word a particularly disastrous vibe, burning skies and falling rubble. It’s a cataclysmic word.

(Cataclysmic also has a great mouthfeel.)

largess - a particular kind of generosity, as I think of it, anyway. Probably because of the “large” tucked in there; largeness here not just being a descriptor of size, but also of abundance, prosperity. Largess is the gregarious kind of giving, maybe with a belly laugh involved. It’s open, bombastic, a sharing in the bounty of the giver. And as a result, depending on who that giver is, it can veer into a performative space: giving so that someone can watch you give.

It makes me think of the Ghost of Christmas Past, specifically the Muppet one, or of airy, oversized gods—the Dark Souls kind, whose gifts always carry an implication that any reward you receive is a product of their kindness only, and never what you are owed or deserve.

reck - meaning consider, account for. Not just noticing something, but a conscious act of regard or calculation. I love the sounds in that word, and in its relatives; they’re almost, somehow onomatopoeic for a purely mental act. Reck is a word for weighing something—on its own, or against another. You’ve reckoned something when you’ve measured its gravity. You’re reckless when you haven’t, maybe earning a reckoning in kind. It should be a word for when the sculptor sees the figure within the block of marble. It isn’t, but y’know. It should be.

ochre - I’ll be honest. I couldn’t even tell you what color ochre is right now. But if marking these words down has achieved any self-revelation for me, it’s that I apparently really enjoy hard “k” sounds that come from the back of the mouth. But there’s also something visually pleasant about the specific letters that compose “ochre” when they’re all placed together. Look at them. Ochre.

I just googled it. It’s a brownish-yellow.

ham - not a lot to say here. Ham is the most joyful meat word. I don’t even really like ham itself. But sometimes I get a strong urge to say “ham” just for the mechanical satisfaction of saying “ham.”

commiseration - my favorite kind of sympathy. When you commiserate with someone, you’re sharing your woes, not so that they can be minimized or solved, but just so they’re acknowledged by another pair of eyes. It’s equitable sympathy, connection by way of pooling your sorrows.