Swear Jar

"Tomorrow" feels like a dirty word. At least, it does to me. It's repugnant. It's illicit. It elicits a certain kind of repulsion. It's one of the most vile parts of speech. Wash your mouth out with soap and it still won't rinse away clean. You swear.

As coarse as the word "someday". As crude as "one-day". As indecent and filthy and unrefined as the word "soon". The worst curse muttered under your breath. A slur in hushed tones. A profanity. A vulgarity. You swear. And this, coming from someone who uses the word "fuck" as a conjunction. As a transitional phrase, as punctuation, as emphasis.

But, what if "tomorrow" is something more pliable than my defensive view has made it? What if it's more plastic? What if it's moldable? What if it's clay? Something you can knead and pinch and shape.

You could roll it into a ball. Press your thumb into it's center. Feel the coolness of water and mud give way. Push it and pull it into a structure. Rounded walls that keeps an openness. A container. A cup. A vessel. A vase. A  jar. What if it's a place to hold a promise? A promise you make to yourself today?

You drop in a small treasure. A token. A tribute. An oath. Not a lot. Only something minimal. Just enough to swear. To swear that today you'll try a little harder. You'll be a little better. You'll do a little bit more. And regardless of the outcome, tomorrow, you'll try again. If for nothing else than for fuck's sake. You swear.

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