Profanity Proper

I have come to realize that my profanity as expressed by the word “fuck” is reserved for my existential frustrations, while my mere ontic worries warrant “shit,” or some less harsh swear. And being disinclined to engage in ontological crises while with pleasant company (the inconsistency makes conversation rather flummoxed, though entertaining from our perspective) it is scarcely to never heard in public. I become whoever I am at that time in cordial company, and suppress whatever I am trying to be until a safer time, where a wider area is provided for my boundless volatile self. Fuck this falsity, I should be able to let SOMEone know of this capricious spirit bottled inside.