Oh, shit. It’s eight o’clock. My blog, what’s the prompt for today. Guilty pleasures. No apologies. Should’ve woken up earlier to post at least one blog. Shit those blogs, I’ve not done them for fifteen days last month and this month. These blogs should help me harness my writing skills. Writing, shit again. Its getting tougher. At last I could say shit in this post guilt free. No need to say sorry.
The day before I was in a meeting with my speaking club and was giving my financial report instead I started uttering sh….t, sh…t, sh….t. I couldn’t see and read the numbers printed on the paper, font so tiny, shit, the lights in the restaurant so dim, shit, I was blaming myself for using an unfamiliar software. Shit. I was late for the meeting, couldnt find the place, shit. When the meeting ended I was the only one who ordered real food, that I hardly ate. Shit.
And now as I’m doing this post that’s exactly whats replaying in my head, like a broken record, sh..t. I recall the guys in the group, their eyeballs gouging out of its socket, stare lashing for witnessing unwomankind character I candidly exhibited. I realized too late.
But cussing in a borrowed tongue makes me feel less vulgar, less filthy and one level higher from being obscene. I maintain my virtuous personality despite the swearing. It’s easy to say the word, it’s letters flows freely and fluidly, a slice of thin air passing just above my tongue immediately halted at the tip.
Compared to swearing in my own tongue, three words, five syllable phrase, more strenuous and time consuming. For me to attempt pronouncing it is degrading myself because I heard it said by ill bred, disreputable and unrefined people. Saying it makes me one with them.
Back when I was young my mother curses in Spanish, a three syllable one letter word. When Spain freed our country from colonialism, we were left using sixty percent of the language including this curse word. It sounded elite and unique not everybody curses in Spanish except for a few including my mom.
Hearing that word from my mom is a warning to turn myself into a good girl right away. But today let me use these words with no apologies.
Guilty pleasures, that I’m not guilty of now. In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “No Apologies.”