What does it mean that even though I have plenty of non-screwy photos, my impulse is to go for the ones from the screwed-up back?
I'm having a perfectly shit day.
Public service announcement: I swear. I swear all the time. At this point fuck is a fairly average part of my vocabulary. I like the word. It's a good word. When I was a grade schooler and thoroughly indoctrinated into christian fundamentalism (it didn't stick) I didn't swear. I couldn't even say hell. Kids at school made a game of trying to entice me to swear. But they didn't understand. They would say, "Come on. What's the big deal? It's just a word." But they didn't understand that I was already going to hell for the sins of pride, parents who not only swore, but drank and did drugs!!, watching cartoons on Sunday mornings BEFORE Sunday School AND preferring to stay on the couch watching "Uncle Bobby" over going to Sunday School, watching the Smurfs (tools of the devil), being forced to listen to the devil's music by living in a house with people who listened to heavy metal and The Eagles (Hotel California is HELL!), possibly enjoying the devil's music, collecting Wacky Packages, and having watched both Gremlins and E.T. I'm certain there were countless other reasons why I should be sent directly to the fiery flames of eternal damnation immediately upon death. The last thing I needed to do was up the anty.
Slipping a fuck or two into my regular language feels good. It's a nice reminder that I CAN. And that despite a really good effort on all parts neither Sunday School, weekly bible club, nor Bible Camp stuck. I made it out with my sanity intact. Hell ya.