Freudian Typos

So I'm trying to do this "30 Posts in 30 Days" thing to launch this blog. It's an antic I borrowed from my friends at Two Bibliofreaks (or something like that). Sure - they did 45ish in 30 days, and that's way cooler... but whatever. Well, I'm literally only days away from completing this mission. And don't worry, I have plenty to write about. But it all came very close to a sudden, whiplashing, back-snapping stop tonight. At a "one hour" family gathering, something went terribly wrong and turned it into a two-and-a-half hour family gathering. Though the food was good, and so was the family, it meant that we got home close to ten o'clock. Which isn't a big deal, except for the fact that I have to get up at 5:00 am! My plan, therefore, was to get home, put the kids the bed, and then dive into bed for a good seven hour slumber. Imagine my utter disappointment when I realized that I had yet to write today's post. There I stood, staring down the computer, weeping bitterly, peeing my pants. Did I consider skipping this post? Yes I did. And that's no lie. But no... I WILL have a post for today, or I will die trying. Let it be known that I'm NOTHING if not dedicated to bringing you meaningless words to read on a daily basis for the next six days! That's my promise to you, the reader.

Moving on (this is where I actually write about the topic of the post): Very rarely does one like to point out their own mistakes. Truth be told, most of us will go out of our way to minimize - or dare I say hide - our mistakes. Kinda like the time when I was a kid and I tried to hide the mud on my clothes with WD40. Turns out it was a huge backfire. Not only did my mom see the mud, but she also smelled the chemicals I'd sprayed all over my body. It wasn't funny at the time. Thankfully, I still have my skin, though most of it is now covered in hair.

Occasionally, however, I pick up on a mistake - the typo kind of mistake - that seems to be a bit more common, and even recurring. What's even more peculiar are the typos, themselves. It's almost as if my subconscious is speaking through my mistakes. Stange, I know. Paranormal... maybe. Regardless, It's a bizarre enough phenomenon that I thought it would be blog worthy. Notice, however, the amount of filler to this point. Let's just cut to the chase, and hopefully you'll see what I mean.

On more than one occasion, while using my cellular phone equipped with SMS (Short Messaging Service) capabilities - which is the fancy euro way of saying "texting" - I began tapping the letters gingerly with the intent of spelling the word "love". This being a text message to my lovely wife, the usual intent is to string enough words together to spell "I love you." On multiple occasions, however, I will look to find that I've inadvertently typed "I LIVE you." I think to myself, "Well, yes... I do live her. She's (dramatic soap opera-ish pause) my life." A typo, nonetheless.

In fact, on a separate occasion, while trying to type the word "wife" on my cellular device, I discovered that I had, in fact, spelled "LIFE" - again, true - she is my life. But, still, an unforgivable error that should have been corrected. I'm deeply embarrassed.

I've said way too much.