There is way too much clutter going around. For one, in my office. (See this pile? Ideas I have that I haven’t gotten to yet–a subject for another day.)

 I’m talking  about sentences cluttered up with “Sorta” every other sentence.

“I tried my new outfit on which sorta looked good, and then I sorta wondered if it matched my grey shoes. Which sorta look fabulous with anything. It takes so much time to have to dig through my closet, so I sorta don’t do it.” 

I asked someone what they wanted to do with their career. They said, “I sorta wanna be on my own where I can sorta do what I want and make money.”  Another said, “I sorta wanna figure out my calling. Like if I should be a programmer still, or if I should figure out what else I could sorta do in my field.” More sorta comments I heard this week: “I was sortav looking around…I sortav entered the mainstream… …sorta added elegant beauty…it sortav connected…he is a sortav pioneer.” 

OK, I’m done. And I feel much better. Not sorta better. A lot better.

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