The paragraph of my life is dotted with red-squiggled underlines, each one an automatically-detected error against predetermined protocol.
Most of those squiggles are accidental typos that I’ve not had the chance to correct, or that I’ve decided to accept and move on.
Some of those squiggles are intentional typos that I’ve laid down for raised-fist effect.
The remainder are correct words that are not found in the dictionary of normalcy. I just don’t feel like clicking “Add to Dictionary” on every one. It’s my own story; deal with it.