I love language. I love manipulating words. I love constructing and deconstructing sentences. I love meaty vocabularies and well-written treatises. Words can be strung together like pearls borne of human misery to create a poignant and searing tale of redemption. Words illustrate thoughts, stories teach, and therefore change our world. Of all the words in the English language, however, my favourite word is the word f*ck.
A well-timed “f*ck” can summarize and deliver the pinnacle of my frustration better than grunts or tears can. An ebullient “f*ck yeah!” rings more honestly than the weak “yay!” Running out of f*cks to give has been one of my favourite memes lately and I’m stockpiling the GIFs because they are brilliant and funny. And here is gratuitous display of one such GIF, because I love GIFs, and I use them liberally:
I’m shameless, and there are many things that I don’t give a f*ck about. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not a sociopath. That’s why I’ve made this blog work-friendly. I’ve asterisked my favourite word so that you and I don’t get flagged by IT—you’re welcome. I have some situational awareness, and also, I have priorities.
The people that I love are sacred to me. I AM the crazy mom at my kid’s school and I wear that badge proudly. I won’t hesitate to defend my kids to anyone. I have raised stinks and hell over times when my kids have been treated poorly either by teachers or other students. What people think of me?
IDGAF (this is in a high falsetto)
I care about my friends. I will debase myself for their entertainment. My humour can be vile and disgusting. When they laugh at my shenanigans, it is gratifying. IDGAF if someone overhears something raunchy (why are they eavesdropping?).
I was raised (like many of us) in an era when we often heard, “What will people say?” For some reason, that statement struck fear into my heart and caused me to “correct” whatever behaviour was the offending behaviour. I internalized the judgements passed on to me by society via my parents. But living in a small ethnic community, we were even more closely scrutinized. Words were measured even further, and the epitome of success was keeping myself out of the mouths of the community gossips. The skirt had to be the perfect length—not too long to be a prude, not too short to be a whore. No vices at all. Not a whisper of scandal. Image was everything. The internalized societal gaze was damaging and harsh.
What a crock of sh*t.
Human worth or essential goodness isn’t a whitewashed existence. It is based on acts of kindness, acts of charity, altruism, learning, and love. I care about putting my all into everything I do. This is one of the best things about getting older—the important things become apparent. It was honestly liberating when one day I was dealing with something petty that I realized, “IDGAF.”
Then I looked at all the things, like what strangers think of me, that were unimportant and I realized IDGAF as well. Life’s short, y’all. Do your best on things that matter. F*cks are precious. Don’t waste them on insignificant people or things.