There are lots of good S words. There are loads of less-good ones.
I want to talk about them all, but I won't do that to you. Let's just do a highlights tour, okay?
Today's navel-gazing is made possible by the letter "S", and viewers like you.
Shit: I use this word a lot. It is Damnedably satisfying to say, but really really rude. Sorry.
Sorry: What the hell, right? Why are people apologizing too much at the wrong times these days and not enough when it counts? My challenge to all of you is to go a week without using this word. Feel your life change. You can substitute, of course, but don't use SORRY. For a week. Then see how you feel about removing it from your vocabulary completely.
Sun: Have you ever just stood outside on a cool/cold day and closed your eyes and faced the sun? That burning ball of hell up there that's smaller than a quarter and bigger than everything else we can think of, it is a zillion miles away and it STILL heats your face. It gives life to this planet. It makes food for every creature we'll ever interact with. It gives our lives heat. The sun makes wind and weather... and it also kills us with things like skin cancer. Dick move, sun. Thanks for all the other radiation, though.
Solifugid/solifugae: oh my holy hell these are the things of your nightmares. Seriously. Good guys, as they eat spiders. NO really, they eat black widows and shit. So they're good guys. And I guess if your job is to catch and eat Black Widows, you're not going to look like strawberries and kittens. So I'll just let you brave souls out there investigate the miracle horror that is the Solifugid (aka sunspider, and wind scorpion). Spoiler: they don't jump onto camels' stomachs and suck out the insides. They're just scary looking little spider-catchers. Chez moi, we call them the "OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT" and then do the heebie-jeebie dance for a few hours. For more info, THIS is a good place to start. And if you've got a strong stomach and spine, HERE is a fun little shot of what the bastards look like in the Denver area.
Skin: Oil of Olay would have us Love The Skins We're In. There are days in our lives when that just big fat is not going to happen. Highschool, for instance, is a time when our skins rebel against our last fiber of dignity and we get that wretched thing called Acne. *shudder*. Some of us have allergies that give us gross pustules and lesions, or eczema that blesses us with red blotches and peeling hides. Skin makes us itch and twitch and the very most unlucky of us have plenty of scars and things to remind us of our previous misfortunes. My own skin has a penchant for reacting to solvents and formaldehyde. For instance I went to work for two hours recently while they were re-painting (I know, dumb idea) and now my arms are covered in a fresh layer of furiously itchy raspberry jam. It will take two weeks to process. I do not, you may correctly guess, LOVE the skin I'm in. Largely I'm well settled with my shape and health and overall measurements and me-ness. But this skin I've got... to make a long story short... gets pretty frakking exhausting. I'm lucky, and I know it. And if this is as bad as it gets, I'll be okay. So I'll cling to that and put the skin-loving cards from Olay into the "fuck it" bucket and hopefully just move along with my itchy self and maybe next time I'll be smarter about things like paint fumes. (srsly. two hours? guh!)
Sadness: I have it. I'm good at it. I'm a writer. So I am programmed for it. Henh. Well, I'm human. So yeah. But I take medicine. And it helps. And if any of you out there are struggling with that wet-quilt feeling in your brains, if you really want to get life "back"... I strongly urge you to look into some good old fashioned talk therapy with a neutral third party and some professionally administered medication. Sadness is a survival mechanism. It is not a daily vitamin.
Singing: If you have ever heard me sing, you'd think it wasn't much of a song. I'm not much of a singer. But singing, it is important to note, is a critical part of the life I live when nobody is looking. I sing to myself, for myself. I sing along. I sing made-up songs to the cat. I sing when I drive and I sing when I'm scared. I sing when I can't focus and I sing when I'm humiliated. Singing is medicine. Even if nobody hears it, it is important. It is a way to interact with your own brain and lace together small pieces of time with all of the natural resources you have at hand. It's free. It's biodegradable And nobody has to know. Only thing better than singing badly for your cat or dog? Dancing badly for nobody. Dancing is also good medicine. Do it. Sing. Dance. Save the world. (screw the cheerleader)