These things called words

I’ve been pondering words. Not important words like transubstantion. No. Simple words. Like cushion. At first glance, or first sound, the word creates a picture in your mind. Soft, square, or round, thingy stuffed with foam or fibres. A decorative item carefully selected as accent pieces to enhance the décor or tie in the Ikea print and the couch, then nicely fluffed and artfully arranged and on couches or beds until some guy comes along and decides he needs every square inch of space that the bed or couch can provide and immediately tosses onto the floor every pretty cushion. Guys, as a rule, don’t treat cushions with respect. And how can they, really. Just say cushion a couple of times and see how you feel about the things afterward. Go ahead. With me now, on three, one, two, three . . . Cushion. Cushion. Cushion. Cushion. Keep saying it and the word loses it meaning. It becomes similar to the noise you would make when you’re trying to chase the neighbor's cat that is using your flower bed as a litter box. Cushion sounds silly and it doesn’t even sound like a word after awhile. I’ve been pondering the word cushion because I’ve been checking out the Ikea web site for said cushions. After navigating through seventeen cushion menu choices the word starts to sound silly. Cushion. Cushion. Cushion. I mean, who decided that those particular letters in that particular order should represent stuffed pieces of material? Of course there is latin antecedents with some Greek and Hebrew and French thrown in, but how did THEY decide? And why the letter U instead of the letter A. And that I and O business? Why didn’t we get to vote on that? Very undiplomatic. Maybe I’ll launch a protest. Maybe I won’t use the word cushion anymore! Maybe I’ll just call it a pillow.

Pillow. Pillow. Pillow.