As you may be able to divine from the title of my post, spelling errors are one of my pet peeves. In fact, it was almost physically painful for me to write that headline. *shudders*

In a way, the written word is less forgiving than spoken interaction. The presence of homophones (words that sound the same but are completely different) allows for a certain level of imprecision. After all, the “three 2’s” (two, too, to) all sound exactly alike. But writing is less ambiguous, almost by necessity. When speaking face-to-face with someone, we can pick up subtle cues from body language and intonation in addition to phrasing. But when writing, all those cues get lost. We are left with a threadbare facsimile of the finely detailed tapestry that is human communication.

So accuracy and precision become more important with the written word almost immediately. In fact, written language is itself structured to follow certain rules of grammar and spelling. Writing things down also gives them more permanence, as a written record has the potential to outlast any individual involved in its creation.

Maybe that’s why I despise spelling errors so much: I strive to be able to communicate in a succinct and accurate manner. It’s probably the scientist in me that dislikes this sort of ambiguity so much. I just wish other people would take the time (or do the research) to keep their communications as clear as I try to. That’s not to say that I don’t make mistakes; I’m not perfect. But I do take a certain pride in being able to communicate effectively that seems rarer than I’d like these days.

Now get your lolcats off my lawn you kids! Don’t make me sic McKean’s Law on you! *shakes dictionary*

Is it me, or did the big Christmas push start really early this year?

Maybe I’m just noticing it more. The past few year I’ve been otherwise occupied (grad school takes a lot of mental energy), so maybe this is the first year in a while that I’ve been able to pay attention. Working retail may have also exacerbated things. The lit trees and lawn ornaments are hard to ignore when they start cropping up at the end of October. And don’t even get me started on Christmas music.

I also tend to be fairly insulated from “typical” pop culture; most of my news and entertainment comes from online sources, and it’s much easier to see only what you want to see on the Internet (whether or not that’s a good thing, while important, is a different discussion). But my girlfriend and I have been watching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., which ends up being a whopping one hour of television a week. But last week’s episode, which still aired before Thanksgiving, let me remind you, was so chock full of overly saccharine and downright condescending Christmas and Black Friday ads, we almost felt like cutting our losses and watching the episode online the next day.

Which brings us to Black Friday, that annual orgy of consumerism which has metastasized and is now encroaching on the Thursday of Thanksgiving itself. Did you know that Walmart started their Black Friday sales at 6pm on Thanksgiving itself? Given how long the lines tend to get, and the fact that the doors open at prime dinnertime, you’d effectively have to spend your Thanksgiving camping out, heating potted meat over a sterno can for “dinner.” Or spam; take your pick. The metaphor still works.

When did this start? When did we become unsatisfied with holidays staying in their respective parts of the calendar, in a nice, temporal chain? And am I alone in being annoyed–nay, enraged–by this trend?

I hope not, because it’s already making me sick of the season. I just want it to be over, so that the carols and commercials and pressure to “BUY STUFFS NAO” goes away. I don’t want to be told I need to show my love or display my self-worth by spending money I don’t have. In fact, being guilted into something generally has the opposite effect in the long run. Which is sad, as this time of year can be a great time to spend with friend and family, to reconnect and take joy in those interpersonal relationships that are often all too fleeting.

Bah humbug, I guess.

Time travel sucks.

Not sci-fi time travel, where you can step into a blue box and pop out anywhere you want. Or take a DeLorean up to 88 miles per hour. That stuff is awesome, and I want it. No, I’m talking about something much more mundane, but as evil as the worst Faustian bargain.

I’m talking about Daylight Saving Time.

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I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been kind of a downer lately, both on this blog and in person. But I’m starting to become amused with the ridiculousness of my angsty state of mind, and I take that as a good sign. One that means I’m once again coming out of a Funk.

Sure, my life isn’t ideal. I have a lame job that barely pays the bills, which leaves me too tired to do anything productive. I’m struggling to get ahead on the credit card debt I have, and I’ve got a whole bunch of student loans that at the current rate won’t be paid off for at least several decades. The free time I do manage to eke out is spent either in a mindless haze or falling behind on the myriad projects I have up in the air, ones that are mostly just good for feeling guilty about neglecting. I’ve got a host of psychological issues and hangups, more than I let on even on this blog or to my girlfriend.

It’s enough to make one want to curl up in a ball and ignore the outside world.

But you know what? Screw that noise. Even though I know the moment won’t last, I’m fed up with feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I’m not perfect. Yeah, I could be doing more to better my situation. But all thoughts like that do is make me feel like a failure, and for what? Someone’s idealized view of “who you’re supposed to be?” I don’t know where this baggage came from (we can probably blame society), but I’m sick of it. And I’m sick of not being able to get rid of it.

I’ve noticed that my writing here has a tendency to reinforce whatever mood I’m in. In other words, if I’m depressed and turn to writing to vent, I just get more depressed. I originally thought that writing might help me move through emotions, but that’s not the case for now. So, I’m going to make a declaration. I will most likely fall short, but I want to try to keep the “poor me” entries to a minimum. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop writing about my issues (people did seem to respond well to my sharing), but I will attempt to do so with a more objective detachment.

So yeah, my situation sucks, and life is pain (anyone who says differently is selling something). So what? The least I can do is try to be happy by my own standards.