I seem to have a split personality when it comes to swearing. I swear in my writing a lot. I swear in my head a lot. But whenever I’m in front of people, I don’t swear unless it’s the necessary part of a joke I’m telling. Even then, when I utter the curse word, it comes out with a bit of a childish, embarrassed emphasis on it, sort of whispering the word as if I’m somehow disappointing my parents, even though they’re far out of earshot.
|"I'm afraid you've let down your country, Mr. Arnold."|
His swearing isn’t mean-spirited, either - it just is. (Hey, there you are, Zen!)
There was something freeing and joyous about it, swinging on the swing-set and yelling out swear words at the top of our lungs. It was energizing, invigorating – we were in the moment, one with the universe. (Okay, maybe this is a little bit about Zen.)
Eventually his mom heard us, and I’m guessing he got in trouble (he was called into his house with a stern voice, at the very least.)
|"I'm sending you to military school. At least they don't curse there!"|
So the lesson here is if you’re ever feeling down and out, go somewhere safe – preferably where no one can hear you – and swear at the top of your lungs. An abandoned quarry works well (great echo effect!) as does the inside of your car. Just make sure it’s done with joy – not anger – and I bet you’ll feel better in no time at all.
And if for some reason you’re arrested for disorderly conduct or causing a public nuisance – you didn’t hear it from me, fuckos!
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