I knew I needed to clean up the exclamatory words and phrases I'd gotten addicted to, but until I started "watching" er listening and monitoring them, I hadn't realized how much they had invaded (I had let them invade) my solitudinous conversations. Having cats--inside, fixed--and outside, feral, keep me speaking.
When aged Elizabeth Calico messed up the bathroom rug that I'd just washed, she got a good cussing, poor thing. I should have known that giving her a different food would upset her digestion for a spell.
I could give more examples, but excuses won't help. Blaming it on my dad is cowardly. So is rebelling against my mom's upbringing.
Does swearing make me feel better? No. Although, sometimes after trying to open a jar or screw in a lightbulb or some such task, it seems that after I swear in frustration, I can do it easily. Nah... another excuse.
Maybe next week, I will have a better report.
~~Pat Laster dba lovepat press c 2011
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