I’ve dropped a fair few unladylike f-bombs
recently in civilized conversation. I’m not proud of it. As of late it has
become habitual more than necessary and while I’m not overly prudish about that
sort of thing I do tend to internally wince (see my earlier blog post about awkwardness)
at the useless vulgarity.
It might be a teacher thing; I have to be so
careful in my day-to-day that for some reason I feel the compulsion to fill
some absurd explicit-language-quota elsewhere. I barely notice its occurrence
in media or literature unless it’s that other
awfully over-used word I definitely never utter and loathe to hear. I know
lots of people swear and they do it lots of the time. I’m not judging them for
it, not at all, but I like to delude myself into thinking I adore language. Words,
sentences, paragraphs laced with vivid description, evocative content; tall
tales and honest communication. So I guess it just feels like a wasted chance
to say something better.
Most importantly, I don’t want my interactions
with people to be defined by such a lazy choice of vocabulary on my part. I do
enjoy making up words (or using weird derivations or reductions of existing
words) which probably seems pretty hypocritical with me having just claimed to
love the art of eloquent articulation. I would however rather that be the aspect of my loquaciousness
people recall.
No comments:
Post a Comment