A Festivus Airing of Grievances

In keeping with the season, we shall now commence with the Festivus Airing of Grievances. You people have pissed me off, and now you’re going to hear about it:

I wish when people said “at the end of the day” they really meant when this actual day actually ends.

Why does it seem like everyone is participating in some staged reading of a new play such that everyone is very concerned about “being on the same page”?

When did “gift” become a verb and why is it currently so ubiquitous?

We seem to have become so self-absorbed and self-conscious that “myself” has come to mean “me” or “I” or people were so traumatized by their grammar teachers that they are incapable of deciding whether to use “me” or “I” so “myself” is a panicked default. I am tired of correcting you in my head.

The shortening vegetables to “veggies” irritates the shit out of me.

“Nestled” is a word that should be outlawed from travel and culinary writing. Actually, let’s just oust it all together.

Who uses the verb “stoked”? Who ARE these people? Make it stop.

It troubles me that tear and tear appear the same on the page, when one can be the cause or effect of the other.

Wound and wound also make me uneasy, as if something has prepared itself to come at me and I can’t see it.

It disturbs me that cleave can mean its opposite, and even the context may not reveal which the writer means.

I keep mixing up the pronunciations of the French words for country and peace. This concerns me. I must also watch how I say love and death. Oh, those French and their charmant.

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