Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Do you know what I just hate.....?

No, I wouldn't subject you readers to my whole list.  Even if I only listed my own many pathetic faults (or those that my dear Adrianna loves to continually point out), this post would take up much too much space and time.  If I started to list all of the things wrong with you other people (yes, including you), I would have to plan my funeral early (I'd either die from writer's cramps or by the demonic-inspired hand of some latent slayer of mediocre fiction writers who might secretly love to see me planted).  No, I think I will pick on just one of my hated things.  (I just used just in a sentence.  I hate that, too, and so does Adrianna, believe me, she tells me all the time).  Okay two of my hateful things.  That should just be enough to fill this post.  (I just did it again, didn't I?)

Okay, what I just REALLY hate:  I hate that everything is moving just too fast.  I think faster than my phailing phat phingers can possibly type.  My plurals seem to always lose their ass, oops, I mean S.  My "yours" comes out as you.  I commonly omit articles like the, a, both.  I misspell the eesiest words, and autocorrect helps by substituting the wurst ideals in the most inopportunity places.  Ask my pretty PITA partner, she spends her days correcting me with an evil laugh and a licorice grin.

Add my horrid typing skills to the modern practices of instant messaging, hurried emails, and blog posts that can't wait for the requisite reread, edit, rewrite, edit, reread, cross out, send to a friend, be embarrassed, start over and eventually throw in the trash, like my normal work goes through.  No, in today's impatient world, I end up with sentences like, "Are your word that the way someone in their position would talk?"  That is real excerpt, right out of my Word Choice post.  Great word choices, huh?

Before I met my Pain-in-the-Aarhus (the city in Denmark), I had to self-edit.  That took rereads by the dozens.  See, I read like my mind thinks, no time for articles or bad spelling, just figure it must there and move on.  I don't see the simple things, only the big picture.  Did I get the point out?  Okay, success!  "What do you mean it doesn't make sense?"  Eventually, I came to realize that my first through my seventh drafts always read like it was written by a dyslexic fourth grader for whom English is a second language.  I need help.  Thank God for Adrianna Joleigh.

Did you get my point yet?  

Yesterday morning, as Adrianna and I were planning the day and triaging the tasks for the Writer's Gallery, the Christmas Challenge, the Select Showcase, gathering contributed content, plus our respective money making occupations, I managed to say something that really upset my partner.  As a consequence, she hardly talked to me all day, and when she did, it felt like a winter's gale wind blowing straight off the North Sea.  I was left alone and scared to deal with my many foibles all by myself.  I not only "did not like it," I HATED it; THAT is what I just hate.  

Oh, you thought the "I hate" was about my sloppy typing, pathetic spelling and hurried posting, nope; what I just hate is when I manage to piss off my darling Royal PITA, Adrianna and she gives me that intolerable cold shoulder all the way from the shores of northern Europe (and believe me, she has the mental and emotional stamina to keep it going full-force all day).  In all honesty, I'd much rather deal with her cruelly used cat-o-nine-tails whip and her rusty shackles than her inhumane silent treatment.  She knows I love her (I hope), but she has a magical gift for torture that she wields with perverse pleasure.

I am truly sorry, Your Majesty.  I am and will always be your humble and loyal servant.  Please, let me come in from the dog house, it is cold out here; I will kiss your feet to make you feel as special as you really are. 
(Shh, I think she's buying it.)

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