Mouserly fits and starts

 I’ve mentioned before my woeful story of the mouse that died. How like an aging athlete it had trouble moving to the right. It still cut to the left okay, but at times I’d try dragging to the right and the mouse was moving but the cursor wasn’t going anywhere.

It becomes time to hang up the spikes—or at least the mouse wheel. Which left me at the mercy of the digerati and their love of all things new.

So I’ve moved on, with a tailless mouse now. My new mouse has a battery inside it. So it can speak to my PC. I do not think battery-powered cordlessness is a good idea, but when I went to the store all the mouses were born without tails.

Had I known previously what I know now, I’d have bought two of the old kind, so I’d have the replacement ready. But here we are.

My new mouse is a skitterish little appliance.  Pointing and clicking requires some precision, and this guy flits about the screen like Peter Pan on fire. I think I’ve got the spot nailed *click* and it hits elsewhere.

So we’re adjusting to each other. The real drag (a puny little mouse humor, there) is when I’m trying to file crap. Clicking all the items to move is enough of a challenge. Then we go flying off toward the folders at left like a drunk who’s missed the top step. Let go at the wrong place and the messages, whole files even, end up in the wrong place. Rather like that self-same drunk waking the next morning and wondering how he got where he is, I’ve doubtless now got files and emails in foreign folders.

I think of them meeting like strangers in pick-up bars. How did a nice message like you get stuck in a place like this? People I met traveling meet relatives, coworkers meet old girlfriends. I’ll bet they compare anecdotes about me. The spiteful wretches.

And it’s all because of this new damn mouse.  Every step forward contains the seed of a step back, I tell you. And be careful how much you confide to people, too.