Mea Culpa. I Can Type, but I Can't Spell.

Visitors to this blog have noticed that I, like Fran Kubelik in The Apartment, can type up a storm, but I can't spell. Unlike Fran, I do not live in a pre-Feminine Mystique, pre-spell check world that would force me to work as an elevator operator, if I was lucky enough to be an adorable, porcelain-skinned redhead.

I could never get my head around spelling. It's a little ironic, considering what I do for a living. All words look strange to me if I stare at them long enough ("enough", what the hell?). Never mind html code. This spelling problem stirs up a nasty emotional cocktail in me, a disproportionately sized blender full of rage, inadequacy, fear and guilt. Past egregious errors start to play in my head like a broken disc of shame "...Sented payed scented paid sented payed scented paid..." I have flashbacks in which my mother tells me I can't write because I can't spell. "No, mom! Those are two totally different things! You just don't understand! Oh, why can't you understand?" Sometimes spelling can be oppressive.

You'll never catch me replacing "s" with "z",or "er" with "ah", as in "playaz", and few things irritate me more than folksy misspellings in advertising. But I will make innocent mistakes. I will forget to spell check in my rush to avoid ruminating over the quality of a post. So my nightmare of looking like an ignoramus in print becomes reality and my emotional blender is on frappe.

Anyway, I guess I'm just trying to say forgive my poor spelling, please. AND DON'T MENTION IT AGAIN! ;)