Still no sign of the mouse that was supposed to be here by 9 pm last night. As of this moment, it is 17 hours and 45 minutes late.

Quelle shoc. I knew there was no chance it would arrived after 5 pm, and I had my doubts on it arriving today too. My Spidey-sense was tingling and telling me that this is one of those times when the thing that was supposed to be simple, easy, and awesome would turn out to be complicated, difficult, and frustrating.

Luckily. Julian lets me use his mouse when he is not sing it, so I am not totally stuck in a Mouse Keys wasteland. He’s off doing his dog sitting work, so I have the luxury of using his ancient Lenovo mouse for the time being.

Son of a bitch.

I just logged into my Amazon account to track the package and not only does it say that they attempted delivery yesterday at 1:59 pm (if so, we did not hear of it and they didn’t not leave a slip) but the website actually has the gall to tell me it is now “delivered and available for pickup. ”

Well which is it, motherfuckers? Because it can’t be both!

I suppose what they mean is that it was delivered TO the place where I am going to have to go to pick it up, but that’s not what I paid the extra eight bucks for.

I paid to have it delivered to me, in person, where I am right now. Or at the very least to my frigging building. And if they couldn’t get a hold of us because the buzzer doesn’t work properly, they should have left a slip like they did with Joe’s package.

Maybe they didn’t leave a slip because there was already a slip there? Whatever.

So now I have to call Joe and get him to take me out there to Jericho Road in/on Sea Island again, this time showing up without a slip and hoping my ID is enough to get my frigging package finally.

But what really pisses me off is that my package was already there when we went there yesterday. If I had just thought of going in with J&J and asking if they had anything for me, I would have had my mouse already.

But no, that only occurred to me on the way home, and by that time I was in no fit mood to ask Joe to go BACK.

I’m in no fit mood to ask him today, either, but it’s that or ask him to take me tomorrow and that appeals even less.

So now I have to call him at work again and ask him to drive me out there. again.

I think I will give him the option of taking me tomorrow and see which he prefers. Because to be brutally honest, I really do not feel like going out there right now.

Because on top of all this mouse poop, sleep is really kicking my ass today and despite having had seven or eight hours of slepe already, I am still quite sleepy.

And fitting a trip out there AND the other half of my blogging for today into the time between now and going out to dinner with Le Gang seems like way too much for me at this moment, and all I really want to do is nap.

Le sigh. I will muddle through somehow, I am sure.

Time to call Joe.

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We’re doing it today. Wow, I think that’s the smallest amount of time that seperator line has ever represented.

I will plug away as hard as I can to get as much blogging done before he arrives as I can. So much for my nap. I will have to squeeze it in between the time we get back from motherfucking Purolator and the time we go out to eat.

I might have to ask for a delay in our depature for feeding in order to accomodate my advanced sleep needs.

And god damn it am I sick of that shit.

It’s like I only have two options : I can either not take a sleeping pill and end up slightly psycho from not enough deep REM sleep, or take a pill and end up with way too much sleep. There is no comfortable compromise.

And I am a comfortable compromise kind of guy. I am always happiest in the middle.

At least I finally got my shit together and got my Metformin and Glyburide game going again. For a long time, I was running out but kept putting off doing anything about it because it would involve having to go see my GP and that’s like…. hard.

So instead I was taking them only once a day, with lunch,. and shipping the dinner dose entirely. This was objectively stupid, but depression makes even intellectual titans like me quite stupid sometimes.

Stupid is, after all, as stupid does.

So instead of dealing with making an appointment and then going to see my GP, I instead volunteered to be tortured 24/7 by the Demon Hunger that makes life so damned difficult when it is around.

It makes me so hungry that I can eat an entire pot roast dinner and STILL be hungry.

I shudder to imagine how much food it would take to actually sate me when I am in that sate. Let along whether I would survive the meal.

Luckily, I know better than to binge. Especially when I know I have had a perfectly adequate amount of food – the same amount that sates me fine when I am healthy.

Thank goodness I have my drugs now and I am getting back to that healthy place where I can have something like a normal hunger/feeding cycle.

Still, it’s fucked up that I let it get this far. Let us once more take up the old refrain : I am not fit to look after myself and could really use some help keeping it together.

But that help does not exist.

So I’m fucked.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I have a little time between now and having to get into the shower in preparation for going to Paragon tonight, so I figured I would get some blogging done.

So, last night, in the wee hours of the morning, my backup mouse died. At first, I thought just the battery had died, but then I tried a bunch of different AA batteries in it and it was still deader than disco, so, RIP, mon petit souris.

No big deal. This is the modern era, so I just hopped onto Amazon.ca and ordered a new one. Nothing fancy, just your basic $10 three button USB CORDED mouse.

Because seriously. Fuck wireless mice. I was excited when I got my first one and the feeling of freedom was intoxicating, but that faded fast and then it was just a mouse that might die on me any second.

So to heck with that. Wires work. The only way I would buy a wireless mouse now is if it was USB chargeable. And if I am going to be plugging it in to charge it,. I might as well just leave it plugged in, and at that point I might as well have gotten a wired mouse.

So I ordered the mouse and I threw in an extra eight bucks to have it delivered today.That’s right, today.

Ain’t modern technology wonderful?

Amazon.ca promises that they will have the thing in my hot little hands by 9 pm tonight. Well, they have a little under 3.5 hours left.

I have my doubts. It wasn’t here by 5 pm and seriously, what are the odds that they are going to send someone after normal business hours to get it to me?

Well if I don’t get it on time, I want my eight bucks back. Especially if it turns out I won’t get it until Monday (grrrrr!!) because that’s when I would have got it by standard Amazon Prime shipping.

And at that point, I might as well have just gone to Best Buy and bought myself the mouse in person. The whole reason I bought it on Amazon.ca is that I wanted it ASAP without having to leave the apartment (agoraphobia!).

So if they give me some bullshit about not being able to get it to me till Monday. I feel perfectly comfortable in telling them to cancel the order entirely.

I will take the bus to Best Buy or whatever and buy the thing in person.

Or get Joe to give me a drive, if he’s willing.

Speaking of Joe, I just went on a tiny adventure with him. See, there WAS a slip from Purolator (those fuckers) on our mailbox when I checked at around 3 pm, and naturally I assumed that this was my package.

So I arranged with Joe for him to drive me way out to Jericho Road (no Joshuas or brass instruments allowed) which is way out in a neighborhood called Sea Island (wow, what a distinct name for an island!) and is the main current reason I hate Purolator.

I swear these places don’t even try to deliver packages any more. Why would they, when they can get their customers to come get it themselves? Being a delivery driver for them now consists solely of writing those little sticky slips and slapping them wherever it takes the least work.

Pretty soon, they will skip the delivery people entirely and just mail you the slip.

Luckily, Joe was already planning to pick up Julian at local nerd mecca Imperial Hobbies, and that is also in and/or on Sea Island, so it was not that big a deal for him to pick me up along the way and stop at Purolator.

Then why, you may ask, am I still sans souris? Because it turned out the package was for Joe, not me.

I had wondered why his name was on the slip and not mine, and had hoped that it was because of some kind of administrative screwup and not that it was actually FOR him.

Oh well. I had a nice little drive, chatted with Joe. and no harm was done. If I had stayed home, all I would have been done is rot my brain playing the one video game I can still play using MouseKeys anyway, so nothing of value was lost.

MouseKeys, as the name tells you, is a function of Windows 10 that lets you control the mouse pointer with the numerical keypad. It’s slow and clumsy and absolutely useless for playing any WASD style 3D first person game because those games use the mouse to control the camera and that would be extremely hard to do via the keybord in realtime like in the type of games I tend to like.

But whatever. It’s only video games. Via MouseKeys I can manage to do my blogging and anything else that just takes using a web browser, and that’s what is important.

A time with fewer video games in my life might do me some good, honestly. They are my main addiction. Food is way up there as well and it’s the obesity and its related effects that re going to kill me, but in terms of immediate effect on my daily life, it is the video games that are killing me.

They are, by far, my favorite crutch. And the thing about crutches is that they are absolutely indisposable when you are recovering from trauma and need them to help you get around.

But they become the problem when you keep using them as a way to avoid having to get better or deal with the trauma.

After all, why do any of the hard work and therapy it takes when you still have the critches? Crutches are fine. Crutches are a perfectly good option. Crutches are part of a crutch-based lifestyle and you are an offensive bigot if you so much as suggest that maybe I should use my crutches less or do some physical therapy.

I’m not broken, I’m just different, you fascist!

That got weird fast. But in a good way.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.