Cursing has always interested me. I’ve had my formal education in the talent, once practiced it regularly (with a rather strong flair), but now will only admit to the occasional slip.
When you’re sixteen or seventeen, it seems like something all adult-ish sorts do, but then you are twenty-ish and suddenly it becomes something only suited to kids hoping to sound older than they really are. That is to say, I realized that it really is an art form only suited to the youth.
Or something like that.
But I can read a book like Catcher in the Rye and the words, painfully extracted from day to day vocabulary by careful vigilance, instantly return.
Even more unfortunate is that this phenomenon is not limited to known but forcefully restricted vocabulary. Today I actually caught myself mentioning the yearn for a “malenky bit of fun.” I was quick to back-peddle.
“I didn’t just say that.”
“What did you just say?” he asked anyway.
“Nothing, nothing,” I demurred, hoping that would be enough to quell his interest. It was.
I don’t understand this. I don’t have any trouble getting other people’s thoughts out of my head after hearing them or even seeing them, but after reading them...
Post Script: I will get around to typing up a snippet about each of the books. Soon, soon, soon.