Frustration

Mark thinks I swear too much. In particular he doesn't like the word, fuck. I happen to like it. Besides the fact that you can use it in so many different ways, verb, noun, adjective, pronoun, interjection, it can also be a real tension reliever. You see, what Mark does not understand is that when I let loose with a string of F-bombs, it is because I'm frustrated.

Drove out to see Mom yesterday. Car in front of me is doing twenty miles per hour down Peterson Avenue. The car in the next lane has matched speeds with the car in front of me and I am stuck doing twenty in a thirty mile per hour speed zone.

"What the fuck is wrong with you fuckhead assholes. Get the fuck out of my fucking way!" I screamed out.

It worked. I wasn't going anywhere any faster, but I felt a little better. Oh, and the car windows were closed, so no road rage incident.

I lay my head back, kick my shoes off, and relax in my big fluffy recliner chair. Either the phone will ring and my phone is in another room, or Mark will call out for me from the bedroom for unknown reasons.

"Oh for fuck's sake, what the fuck? Every fucking time...  "

Once again, it helped relieve my frustrations.

And then there is that roll of doggy poop bags that I have attached to the leash. They make the lid for that thing so crappy that if you drop the leash or even bump it against something, the roll of poop bags hits the ground and rolls itself out. That happened last night and I started in with the F-bombs, and continued repeating that word over and over until the damn bags were rolled back up. Mark didn't like it, but I felt better.