Regression

Putting aside what this might mean about my emotional state, many thoughts these days seem to end with the word “motherfucker.”

I’ll be sitting behind a car at a right turn, and I’ll think “Turn right…motherfucker!” Or, I’m trying to grind some coffee beans, and I’ll think “Grind…motherfucker!” If I’m waiting for my pre-intel processor 4.5 year-old computer to load word, “Are you trying to kill me, motherfucker?!”

I’m going to temporarily blame the increase in my use of swear words in the interior monologue on unemployment. It’s also making me tardy. I have nowhere I have to be, and, yet, am late everywhere I go. My Inner-Project Manager is in sleep-mode (though, let’s face it, I’ve never been on time…).

Just for today, I can regress in middle-age.

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