There are . . . no such things as curses. There is luck, maybe, bad or good. A slight inclination of each day towards success of failure. But no curses.Anthony Doerr
At this stage I wouldn't even know the difference between success and failure. But I accept that my days are not and never haven been cursed. Today, I am mostly staring into space and wishing there was a way to compare the person I seem at present with the one I was 12 months ago. My own control study, complete with Tables and Figures and the statistical work up. Then and now. Trying not to hiss at myself, what the fuck has happened. You call this energy? (The Alpine lakes are looking very far away at this stage.)
Still, R has asked me politely to drastically reduce my use of swearwords. We discussed it for a while, politely, and agreed that a short shout of fuck or fuck this is acceptable when, e.g., you drop the honey jar on the kitchen tiles because due to mysterious circumstances the lid was not screwed on tightly or when for unknown reasons beyond your control the handle of the compost bin breaks before you reach the garden (i.e. spilling the contents on the sitting room carpet) and, extending beyond the gravity scenario, when computers/printers/scanners/cell phones etc. act up. Which is where he has on occasion uttered the odd curse. God forgive him.
When I first met R's parents, these two very mild mannered and generous people who taught me that a stranger is always a friend you haven't met, I was pretty arrogant. I think so now. They probably thought so, too, but their hearts were so much bigger than mine was then. I took me several years of proper family dinners (all the trimmings and side plates!) and hideous parlour games and watching soccer or Wimbledon on tv together before I realised that they never ever used a swearword at all. At all. I mean, they exclaimed all sorts of stuff, holy mackerel, holy josephine, cripey, crispy crospy holy malosky and so on, while there I was all, jeez this and god no that and oh shit all, over the place. Of course, R doesn't curse either and now, after 36 years, he tells me. Jeez.
When I met my husband he almost never cursed.ReplyDelete
Those days are over. You can't possibly live with me and not curse like a sailor.
When she was five, my daughter looked at me with earnest eyes and said, "Mommy, you mustn't curse anymore. Promise me?" Today, my girl can sometimes like a sailor, but she knows when and in whose company to do so.ReplyDelete
I curse all the time (except around the grandkids because I have been quite explicitly asked not to). I can't imagine not saying "fuck this" or "fuck that" at the appropriate moment. I once found this little saying somewhere on the internet years ago: Fuck the fucking fuckers. It is one of my favorites.ReplyDelete
Ho, I swear like a trooper at times, especially when watching Wimbledon, and driving...ReplyDelete
I have recently allowed myself to use of the f-word more freely (but not, I hope, in the company of those who I think might be offended). Doing so certainly reduces my stress. I do sometimes, though, notice to my dismay that I swear more than my (more?) grown-up children.ReplyDelete
Oh, Lord. I curse all the time. It would be very hard to stop! I admire people who are so conscientious that they don't, but I'm afraid that isn't me. :)ReplyDelete
I certainly "get" the whole no swearing thing, just like I get all the other things I admire that are noble and good in this world. Like not overeating or overdrinking, and getting enough exercise. But sometimes it just feels so good to be bad.ReplyDelete