Using Curse Words

Gosh, darn it.  Oh, shoot.  Fudgsicles.  Horse hay.  Mud puddles.  Fiddle sticks. 

These are the expressions I’ve informed my girls they are allowed to use instead of the ones they started to use after hearing me swear in extreme duress (like the time my husband broke his leg).  Seeing as how I should use these expressions from now on in order to be a good role model, I am reciting them in my head today in the event that I forget them later. 

However, what I want to say are the bad words.  I want the expletives.  I want to rage about my frustrations.  I want to lash out emotionally.  The benign versions of curse words just aren’t satisfying enough for me.  Still, I have small children to think about, to raise into respectful human beings.

What I discovered in curbing my venom was that it dissipated.  Instead, I dug deeper and asked myself why I was feeling so disheartened by the news that I would not find out about a potential job until December.

Financially, we’re doing okay.  Maybe it’s the Universe’s way of telling me I can spend more time with my kids, of letting me continue to work part-time so I can be with them one-on-one two days a week.  Maybe it’s a gift rather than a hinderance.  Perhaps if I look at it that way I can lighten my soul, relieve myself of anxiety and the need for control.

Or, maybe it’s the Universe’s way of telling me to focus on my art instead.  Telling me to go in a new direction.  That there’s more important work elsewhere.  I don’t know what it is, but maybe I ought to start looking.  Maybe I ought to start being open to new paths.

Whatever the case, I am grateful that I didn’t jump into the irrational abyss, that I stopped myself from going over that cliff.  I have so many other things to appreciate; why let a title or a desk get me so off kilter?