Something’s bugging me. I think I made a typo in a post I published a few days ago and I have to find it. I have to correct it before anyone notices.
I’m hunting for it like a bloodhound that chases down unforgivable mistakes, following the scent of fatal flaws, until I realise…
No one cares
There’s literally not a single person on the face of the earth who cares that I might’ve put a comma in the wrong place.
The things that we actually care about, we really care about: family, friends, pets, donuts.
But pretty much everything else is just stuff and noise and (as far as our primeval brains are concerned) if it’s not about to jump out of the bushes and eat us, we can fairly safely ignore it and live to see another day.
No matter how wound up I get over a punctuation mark, in all of recorded history there’s not even one incident of a criminally insane full stop or semi colon stalking the writer who misplaced it and harming that person in any way.
Some mistakes are harmless. Imperfection is ok.
My inner perfectionist is having a nervous breakdown as I say this because it wants me to believe that even the tiniest flaw is unfit for other human eyes to see. It’s screaming:
A rogue comma is the end of the world!!!
But it isn’t. Nobody cares. Have a donut.