Really, I just thought that title sounded a little bit cool, even though it makes me inevitably think of mayonnaise and The Princess Bride. I have a weird relationship with the word “miracle,” it seems.
Yesterday, I was experiencing my fan-blaring, virus-scanning, repeatedly-freezing computer as usual, and doing pretty well. Then my tiny laptop mouse (my touchpad seems to think the computer screen is a river and it must skip from rock to rock to cross it – and the rocks are not in a straight line) began to behave rather strangely.
Clicking it produced no respose. Nope, nothing wrong with the lasers; it still moves the arrow across the screen fine. Right click is fine. Left, nope. It wouldn’t click until about the fifth poke of the button, if hit at exactly .751 from the x origin and .892 from the y origin. Do you know how much calculating those coordinates slows down the work day?
I tried resorting to the “point-with-the-mouse-and-click-with-the-touchpad” approach, but let me tell you, that is no picnic either, especially if you’re typing from loose papers that keep flapping shut while you’re playing the two-handed whack-a-mole with your mouse.
But you know, mice are sensitive creatures. They just want a little tenderness, really. They’d rather be stepped on by a loafer than a high heel, and wouldn’t we all?
This morning, after an already-frustrating fifteen minutes of poke-clicking, I tried the flat-finger press click, and – wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, it worked!
It’s still working, as I speak. …and still working now…. and now…
Paranoia is setting in rapidly, folks.
Two more weeks, baby, two more weeks. You can make it.