I have just been going through some of the older stories on my blog, reminiscing about past adventures, trials and tribulations. Living vicariously through my past self on this overheated Saturday morning. The air conditioners now finally installed and working properly, but having to pull double duty in this heat. Like my driver, I am sure they will hit me up for extra money just for doing their job. But while going through my blog, I was completely taken aback, agog and aghast. I came across typo after typo. Before I realized it, I as swimming in a murky puddle of misspelled words and wrong tenses. Fortunately for me, almost nobody reads this thing, so the damage is controlled. I now feel the need to pour through each and every story, dusting here and there and tidying up the mess of inaccuracies.
Making matter worse is my aversion to alphabetical wastage. Tossing out letters here and there with no thought as to what might happen if we run out. I worry that there is an alphabetic Chamber of Guf and once the Guf is emptied of all letters, the literary world comes to an end. And now I am faced with the dilemma of a lifetime. Murdering the scores of innocent letters in the typos and replacing them with proper ones is nothing short of alphabetical genocide. Will my need for correct spelling turn me into the Milosevic of the blog space? I guess as my defense I could point my finger elsewhere, blaming it on the cocktails, the nightlife, the boogie.