I must have been tired in some fashion yesterday I slept twelve hours. I think this is a feature of my depression, but I am able to sleep more than was my custom. I seldom sleep longer than two or three hours, but can do so nearly any time. It gives my plaints of sleep-deprivation a hollow tone.
I find my complaints have begun to seem nugatory and to ring false in my own ears. I wonder if I have sounded so to others all this time? I now have the habit of feeling bad even when I don't of complaining without need. I am not, emphatically not, saying that I don't feel bad just that it has begun to sound false in my ears. I once read that one of the three best ways to lie is to tell the precise truth so unconvincingly that you are not believed. I seem to have fallen into this mode. How odd to possess verity without verisimilitude. I wonder if hypochondriacs are disbelieved because of the frequency of their complaints or due to their tenor?
For those of you stomping your feet, the other two ways to lie is to tell only part of the truth, or to say nothing at all.
How does one lend verisimilitude to veracity? By not speaking, I suppose. Pleonasm cheapens words. Ambrose Bierce once defined Pleonasm as an army of words escorting a corporal of thought. Yet is there value in silence? To make a commodity more rare is almost invariably to increase its worth. Why should this work with words? To make low-fat milk you add water until the fat content is adulterated to your taste. Will an amalgamation of words with silence produce low-fat speech? It would seem so.
I talk too much. It would appear I think too much about it as well.