It Ain’t Minnesota, But It Feels Just as Miserable
It looks like James Lileks had the same kind of Thursday I did.
Curse the Thursday that feels like Friday; you feel like you’re in one of those loud long movies where the bad guy has been defeated twice already but comes back one more time, howling for blood. It’s partly the weather – it feels very personal when it’s cold and blowing and cruel. It follows you where you go; it waits outside when you’ve gone indoors. I wonder what people who have an aversion to swearing say when they get in their cars, turn on the ignition, and get a blast of cold air because they forgot to turn off the heater. GOSH just does not fill the bill. JEEPERS seems likewise insufficient. Some folk might find themselves flinging a fillip of a fricative-founded foul phrase, although FRICK IT might work, too.
What is worse is that today does not seem to be the balm I had thought it would be last night when, about fourteen times or so, I remembered it was Thursday and not Friday. At least there is a dim light called Saturday at the end of this long and frustrating tunnel.
I also note that FRICK IT is not a satisfactory substitute for the frase — sorry, phrase — to which James alluded. Neither is FRAK. Really, in that moment when you can’t see a darned thing because your eyes teared up then flash-froze and the breath was sucked from your lungs by a miniature man-made Arctic gale, there is only one word that can do your misery justice.
“The F – - – word”.
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Category: Cool Columnists and Wicked Writers
That's what happens when one returns to the 5-day workweek after two long weekends. I wonder if "frag" would work.
It's a bit more than that this week, but I won't go into it. I keep work stuff off the blog. I'm not sure my employer wants me thinking of the word "frag" this week either.