I say “fuck” a lot — yes, I realise the big surprise that statement garnered.
I find it is one of those words that beautifully moulds itself around nearly every situation.
It works when you are happy “Fuck look at that wow!!”
It works when you are surprised “Where the fuck did you come from?”
It works when you a find the elusive remove “Why the fuck were you there —- ?”
It works when you are looking at some kid having a total collapse and it’s not your kid “Not my fucking monkeys people, not my fucking monkeys!”
And of course it comes into it’s own when you are really angry.
I was really angry yesterday — like burst into tears angry. That is a special kind of angry. It’s the kind where there are actually just not enough fucks to fit into a sentence. And I might need a brown bag to breath in because I am going to over fucking stimulate myself.
I start using deviations “fuck’tard” “fucker” “you fuck” and so on.
I will confess it does take away a little from the magic of the word “fuck” but there are days when my fuck mug just overflows and everything just goes to shit. I normal manage to get through an entire day with a semblance of what appears like normality.
It is actually raging crazy — but you add enough layers of margarine to anything and it will be shiny and yellow. And no one wants to touch it.
Today I woke up angry — I tried to give myself a little “just be happy and do not kill anyone and you will get through the day” — but I realised fairly quickly I am not really a mantra sort of gal.
I have been in interviews all day — I have what feels like a million messages to read through, a few dozen call messages to return and I am at that point where I have nothing left to give. I am tapped out. I need a lie down — but I know I get to repeat this shit tomorrow, similar script, and that exhausts me to the freaking bone.
I got up a little while ago to go the bathroom — its a public bathroom. I always leave going to the bathroom to the part where I am just about to pee in my pants, or the poo is already on it’s way out. And who said I wasn’t a thrill seeker???
I went in, assumed I was by myself. And I started a conversation with myself.
That got more heated. With “fucks” just being more liberal than say the situation might have called for. The thing with talking to yourself is you rile yourself up pretty quickly — because no matter how lunatic your statement is from Voice #1, Voice #2 will just step it up to the insane level — like yeah, let’s go burn that mother fucker. Or something like that.
I guess all our inner voices operate differently.
I was on a roll, and there is just no way you can hold a cowboy back when it’s crunch time.
I flushed and continued my little monologue — peppered —- like giant fucking black pepper grinder peppered – – with fucks and “you fuck” and so on.
I was on the way to wash my hands —- not breaking stride with my little fuck fest.
I needed a real venting moment and I was using the alone time in this bathroom to just lose what ever decorum I might have started the day with.
I was in full swing — like warming up for the dismount of the beam when I heard a noise ….. and realised that somewhere in this I was not alone. There are only two stalls — not much place to hide.
Some poor woman was trapped in the toilet as I was going off my rocker. No doubt she was figuring if she just sat there quietly and long enough, then I would go away and she could come out. And maybe live.
Yes, it is a little awkward when you realise you are not alone.
Of course my over active imagination now sees every set of eyes staring at me going “bitch, I would have said the same thing…”
Yeah I know. Fuck.