People who know me will know that I have a passion for languages that goes far beyond my ability to put foreign languages to practical use - a very good indication is that at the time when I first wrote this, I was the proud owner of the first volume of J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - in no less than eight languages, of which I am totally without abilities to get understandable meaning out of at least half of them. But then I at least have the books on the shelf if one of my kids should take an interest in one of the languages in question, and think it might be fun to use the young wizard as a companion venturing into it.
One of the more stressful side effects of my language obsession is that I just have to have a shallow exposure to a language before I get an unbearable desire to learn more of it. Initially just greetings, courtesy phrases and such stuff - and a similar urge to learn a new alphabet if there is need for anything but the one I normally use.
And now it has happened again. With the usual acquisition of basic textbooks, dictionaries and the like. Not that I think I'll ever master this language either. One can ask oneself if I will ever become any wiser.
And frankly, I do not really hope so.
(Translated from Endnu en af mine svagheder, originally published February 25, 2018)
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