I’m still at a point in my writing where I care what the world thinks of me hesitating to shock with the inappropriate.
For instance, there’s an essay in my pipeline called Cyberly F–ked I just can’t bring myself to post. What will you think of me using such a crass term, yet when I changed it to screwed it just didn’t have the same punch. Using the word in passing seems less stunning, but in a title…will you delete me from your follower list?
There’s a 12 Step slogan that comes to mind: What you think of me is none of my business.
Sure wish I can own that one.
I blame it on Connecticut where my mother, who was so inappropriate in her own life, still hypocritically influences mine…you can’t say that…what will they think for godssake? I raised you to be a lady remember.
I’m a lady alright, right down to my double-strand of pearls I’d like to strangle her with…if she weren’t already at that great big Bloomingdales in the sky that is.
Reminds me of an old Saturday Night Live when Mary Tyler Moore, always perceived as the good girl, repeatedly said penis to prove even Mary Richards wasn’t as pure as freshly fallen snow.
I’m hanging from a thread in so many areas, yet here I am trying to maintain what society claims is right and just.
And what does society know anyway when you come right down to it.
Fuck that…I mean screw that.
See, the latter just doesn’t have the same punch.