Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.
Is it my mind I’m losing or my marbles, or my girlfriend, or all three? I really don’t know what losing my mind and my marbles mean. I mean, if I lose my mind, where does it go that I can’t find it? How can I know I lost it, if I lost it? Something’s wrong here. Will I get a new fresh mind to replace it, or when I say “I don’t mind” is it because it is lost and consequently “minding” is beyond me. When somebody tells me to “mind your own business,” I’m on board because I can’t/don’t/won’t mind. Also, the upside is if I’ve lost my mind, it’s likely that I can find it. I was thinking of going to the Penn Station lost and found for starters, to look for my mind.
“Losing my marbles” is a whole other cup of tea. I do not, or never, have had any marbles. Ok, when I was a kid back in the 50s I had a small bag of marbles containing cat’s eyes, puries, aggies, and one big fat shooter. It’s 2026 now and I lost those marbles back in the sixties because my parents had a garage sale when I was in Vietnam. They also sold my baseball card collection which would be worth at least $100,000 if I still had it.
There were things of mine they sold, all near a dear to me. When I got back from ‘Nam and found out my most prized possessions were gone, I went around the bend. So, maybe literally “losing my marbles” affected my sanity, not to mention the mind-blowing affects of the war.
Now, we come to the present. I can talk about it because my lithium is kicking in. I’m 80 and I’ve had nine divorces since I’ve travelled around life’s bend with my mid blow all these years. Presently, I have a girlfriend who’s 38. We supposedly love each other. She pushes my wheelchair and never complains. She’s a whiz with microwave oven and makes me coffee every morning, bathes me, and watches TV with me. But, yesterday morning I saw her talking naked with a man on her cellphone. I sort of believed it when she told me he was her gynecologist and he was doing a remote Zoom examination. I asked what that pink wand in her hand was all about. She told me it was an “Examicam.” I said “You are making me suspicious of your fidelity.” She responded “Oh Bucky you’re such a drama queen. Let me take you for a roll in your wheelchair down to the river.” I couldn’t resist. Down by the river, she would hand me stones and I would throw them at the geese and the ducks.
When we got there, the Zoom gynecologist was there! They started arguing. He yelled, “You can’t just dump him in the river! What the hell is wrong with you?!” She sad “Go fu*k yourself” and turned and wheeled me back home. On the way home, she told me it was all a misunderstanding, that she would never even think about killing me again.
I’m giving her a second chance, not to kill me, but to prove her love for me. Still, I’m nervous. There are clear signs that I’m losing her. I didn’t smell any coffee this morning when I woke up. I’m stuck here in bed with my laptop.
Oh look, there’s a Zoom call for me!
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu.
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