“…if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.” (George Orwell)
I’ve tended to use profanity the way many people do—as an exclamation point. Hit my head on the freezer door (freezers on the top? Not a good idea), or bang my leg on a chair? Curse. Break a plate or glass (I am very bad with glass), knock a goblet of wine on the rug? Definitely curse. Or find a mess left by a pet? Curse, curse, curse.
On occasion, my curses have been directed inward—when I couldn’t believe I’d been dumb enough to make this or that mistake, or when I disappointed people I loved; and on other occasions, I’ve hurled them outward, generally at the TV during football games.
When I was teaching, my football curses were a convenient way to let go of pent up frustration, and the hundred times I bit my tongue to keep…
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