The reality was of course quite the opposite.
Computers have since that time conspired against me to make life more aggravating, although to be absolutely fair to them, not even a tiny fraction as aggravating as photocopiers have made things (although on a less regular basis, now that I have shunned the corporate management life). I hate photocopiers, while computers merely make me frown with mild distrust and a relatively low level of destructive rage. I've never 'gone postal' with a photocopier - as they say here in the Boreal forests of Canada - but only because I have been able to wreak a terrible revenge on such machines without really ever trying very hard. Within my fingers, you see, lies the power to throw photocopiers (in this regard, the more complex the better) into electronic suicidal loops. When all is said and don e; when they have refused to cooperate with my request for simple copying/sorting operations, I hold the ultimate power: death. Mwahahaha.
But I digress, as usual. It may surprise you (*sarcasm alert*) to hear that I do, from time to time make errors while typing. Occasionally, I will make mistakes which render almost meaningless the smooth stream of words issuing from my mind. Such occurrences (OK, I do it almost every sentence - for example, I just typed 'sentemnce') test my otherwise infinite (*HUGE sarcasm alert*) patience, and make the act of writing rather less fun than it would otherwise be. My errors tend to be repetitive, which makes them all the more annoying (I just typed 'annopying, which made me annoyed). In an effort to permanently exorcise some of them, I shall enlighten you:
- 'opf' instead of 'of'
- 'fo' instead of 'of'
- 'th e' instead of 'the' (in fact, inappropriately inserted spaces can strike at any time; especially when I get excited)
- 'teh' or 'th' instead of 'the'
- inserting extra letters (usually vowels) into words
- doing things like 'basisi' when letters are repeated
- missing the 'caps' key at the start of a sentence
- temporary dyslexia which sometimes results in the most alarming collections of random letters in the middle of an otherwise normal (error-strewn) sentence
- any other mistake (this is clearly an attempt to exorcise every other possible mistake from my future - I already know it won't work, but then I also play the lottery)
I can - as I recently told 'them' on a job application - type at up to and over 45 words per minute with just two fingers. My little hands (no, they're not really little but I could hardly say "My giant, lumpy hands..." and still expect your sympathy) are a blur when I'm really going for it, although my face does seem to end up extraordinarily close to the keyboard after a while. It's true: for up to a minute, I can fling the words onto the page with the not-too-shabby of them (I could have said 'the best of them', but we both know that 45 wpm is not the best of them, whoever 'them' may be), just so long as I can have twenty seconds or so alone with my friend 'Spellchecker' immediately afterwards.
From time to time I can write whole paragraphs with zero errors, although such an accomplishment is not particularly time-saving, since I have a tendency to pull my shirt over my head and conduct a celebratory lap of the upper floor of my humble abode. After dealing with the minor in juries that this usually results in, I bask in the glow of my prowess for a little while before launching myself into what is invariably a mistake-strewn following paragraph. It's hell, I tell you.
Time now for me to publish this post and wait a suitable time (although I suspect the rest of my lifw will not be long enough) to find out if the exorcism has worked. It certainly hasn't kicked in yet, although maybe all the power of driving out the demons is to be found in the act of baring my angst to the twitterverse. I'll let you konw...I mean: know.