A Soliloquy on Fucks (Or, Happy Monday!) (Patreon)

There's a certain benefit to pretending to not giving a fuck. It's something I've been slowly trying to learn over these last months, these last years. Fucks, you see, are heavy things, and we carry bags of them around with us — some more than others. Some of these fucks are so big, that a single one can fill a knapsack. And then, where do we keep the rest of our fucks?

Still, we all have them — our fucks.

Fucks can be big. But they can also be very, very small; like boulders in some cases, easy to see when you pop open your trunk, or so tiny that they get into the Velcro-like upholstery, and are almost impossible to get out, even if you head to the carwash and use one of those industrial-strength vacuums they have for $0.25-per-two-minutes. 

Sometimes, we do need our fucks. They're Swiss Army knives for a variety of situations. They're the duct tape of our experiences and interactions, or the WD-40. We can use them to stick that which isn't stuck and should be stuck, or to unstick that which is stuck and shouldn't be.

The tricky part is that most of us carry far more fucks than we need to carry, like that dude who brings 17 cans of Cheez Whiz to Bonnaroo. It might come in handy, but by the end of the weekend, there are still going to be 16 cans left — space that could easily have been used better, for things like bottles of vodka or a half garbage bag of weed. Cheez Whiz, after all, takes up a bit more space than you think it does, especially when you're trucking in with only as much space as a 2003 VW Golf will allow. 

So, keep your fucks. And keep them close. Keep a few of the small-to-medium-sized ones in your glove compartment. Keep one in that useless change pocket in your jeans. Because it'll come in handy at some point, if the opportunity comes up to give it away, and you've done your due diligence and decided that it's worth giving. 

But keep very few more. The ones that aren't on hand? Stuff them behind the ramen noodles in the kitchen cabinet (which you never use, because you had a couple of good paychecks and ramen is only glorious when you're flat-ass broke), or behind the winter sweaters under your bed. You will know where thy are, if you need them. And they might come in handy. But until then, let them lay. 

Don't hoard your fucks like newspapers from the late '90s. Don't accumulate fucks so you have more for a rainy day. Never, ever take solace in your collection of fucks, to the point where they define you. They're kinda worthless on their own, out of context, and very few people will be impressed by your massive collection of fucks. 

But beware: beware of the person who says, with all honesty, they have no fucks to give. A person like this usually has several fucks — more fucks than they know what to do with. Their fault is that they keep their fucks too close, hide their fucks away too deeply, until one day, someone discovers all their well-hidden fucks, and it creates all sorts of trouble. Like a bag of dildos in a broom closet. 

Fucks are the Hummel figurines of the soul. Incredibly valuable to some, meaningless to others, and contextually kind of amusing. One? You'll get a laugh and people'll think you're kinda goofy in a reserved, ironic (and God forbid, even endearing?) sort of way. Ten? People will think you've got some shit to work through. A hundred? Then amigo, you're that person who has your Hummel figurines, and nothing else. 

Give your fucks a good polish every now and then. Roll them around in your hand and gauge the weight of them. Feel the heft in your palms (because, dammit, they should never be so big that you can't hold them in one hand). Then, slide them back to the place you've been keeping them.

And, if you need to use it, excuse yourself, head to the place where the appropriate fuck is stored, retrieve it, and hand it over. 

We're born with fucks. Some of them. We can't buy them as time goes by, but we do accumulate them, like yeast accumulates on the surface of a tub on framboise. Depending on the environment, some of us accumulate more of the stuff that eventually ferments into fucks than others, and far too often, the ones who accumulate the most of the sludge that eventually turns into a good, solid fuck have more of it than they know what to do with; certainly more than is useful or that they know how to get rid of. 

Mind your fuck tank. Pay it a visit from time to time. Separate the wheat from the chaff, keep only as much as you need, and move on until you have to check in on it again. 

In the meantime, cherish the fucks you do have, and don't stress about acquiring more — nothing wrong with a little moderation.