Today's Equus reading, although comical, got me thinking about why I've got this wall built around using that ancient Anglo-Saxon term. I went Dystart (a psychiastrist in the play, for those non-Humanitians) on myself and went back to where I came into the most contact with the word.
Surprisingly, I think I've figured out my aversion to it. My family doesn't curse. Either side, rarely ever. The only time I've been exposed to cursing has been when my father is drunk and violent (in emotion/attitude, not beating me or anything). I associate the word with such negativity and anger that it's very uncomfortable to bring up. I dunno. It's an ugly word. Maybe I'm overanalyzing, but I wouldn't rule my father theory out completely.
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