I am so full of rage. Misdirected rage because I know perfectly well its all about my brother and the situation I can’t change; yet I fume and rant over the smallest things because I can control those. Sadly, recognizing my abhorrent behavior isn’t totally enough to make things as they should be. I just can’t be the normal rational person I once was.
I just had a big fight with my husband over the use of commas vs semi-colons in a sentence and I’m afraid I didn’t come out of it well. He maintained his comma use was valid (or didn’t see why it wasn’t, which is the same thing with a little more intelligence thrown in) and I flat out told him it wasn’t. Somehow things got a little heated and I vaguely recall telling him to punctuate any damn way he chose but if he asked me check things over, then I was always going to tell him the things that were wrong. Mild stuff? Yeah, I thought so as well.
Except he pushed it. I pushed it. I am not proud of the fact that I informed him he was getting dumber, due to the exposure of millions of internet literacy deprived people. “called normalization, dear. You see it written wrongly so many times that your brain interprets the new data as the more correct version.”
He still didn’t want to use the colon/semi-colon option and I told him to write the damn sentence anyway he liked and it would be good enough, even though others would notice the errors.
Now I am looking back and finding it just a bit amusing. I am sure we will laugh about it in days to come. Emotions run hard when exposed to the awful necessities of terminal care.
I still remember throwing a chicken salad roll at my husband on the last day of my father’s life. Grammatical errors seem to be an upward improvement on that.