Today I got all vloggy.
I do like that camera angle. It foreshortens me amusingly, and totally hides my copious belly fat, giving me a look at what I would look like if I wasn’t a fatass.
Not bad, as it turns out.
And yeah, like I say in the vid, I am going to be stuck with a bum mouse…
…for a week plus however long it takes for Amazon to deliver a new one.
It’s not impossible that I will get the thing working. Maybe all it really needs is to dry out. Or maybe I will open the thing up and clean it out and that will do the trick.
I could also use an app to bypass my mouse entirely. That would be a fairly drastic measure given that my current mouse sort of mostly works. I can click stuff just fine.
And scrolling with the wheel is not mission critical to anything.
I was able to make today’s vid without a problem.
But I know that there’s utility apps, or maybe even functions built into Windows 10, that let you control the mouse cursor with the keyboard.
Kinda like MouseKeys in reverse. (KeysMouse?)
That would, presumably, be SUPER clumsy and irritating, so again, not going to do it just to bypass my scroll wheel.
I mean, the whole point of the scroll wheel is to save you from having to use the keyboard so much.
But if things somehow get worse, a mouse pointer controlled by keys might still be better than no mouse pointer at all.
Or it might not be. Honestly, I could go either way on that. Might actually be easier to revert to the trusty arrow keys and tabbing method.
Boy would THAT take me back. I remember when the world buffaloed me into converting to using Windows 3.1 when I had been a dedicated DOS user for a number of years by then.
I didn’t want to have to take my fingers off the keyboard to use the mouse. At the time, this seemed like a major imposition and an abrogation of my prerogatives.
Seems quite silly now.
But at the time, I was sure I could do everything more easily via a command line interface. The mouse was for gaming and that was it.
That seems like more than a lifetime ago now.
I’ve been feeling the oldness lately. Not just in physical terms – somehow being a cripple makes the rest of my age related stiffness and tiredness seem like no big deal.
No, just the weight of all these years I am dragging behind me. It seems insane to me that I have lived as long as I have.
Not that I expected to die before now. It’s just that looking back over all my memories and experiences and the sheer amount of history I’ve lived through gives me pause.
The fact that my lifeline starts during Carter[a] and extends into Trump (or starts in Trudeau(the first one) and ends in Carney for us Canadians) seems crazy to me.
So I suppose that in a sense it’s not the weight of time I’m feeling but of history.
And with that comes the crushing grief at all the life I have never lived and that I am still not living yet.
I still need to get over that. I guess that means I have to mourn it properly. The me that should have been has been dead for a long long time and I should really bury him.
I’m never going to be him. I have to let him go. He is long, long gone. No backsies.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be something wonderful in the future.
I’m working on it.
More after the break.
The death of Summer Fru
Summer is drawing to a close and the only time I have spent out there enjoying the sun and fresh air besides brief moments getting in and out of Denny’s and Wound Care has been those little 40 minutes of exercise at Kinsmen every week.
And last week it was too cold for even that.
And as summer closes I will once more be in that particularly cruel rock and hard place where I desperately want to go out and have some wholesome nature exposure but I am clinically incapable of pulling myself together enough to actually do it.
Standard disclaimer : it’s not that I don’t know how to do it. I know exactly how I could do it. All I would have to do is ask Julian to drop me off at some point in Garry Point Park not too far from the road with the compartment of my outdoor four wheeler walker loaded with snacks and drinks and sunscreen and a book or two and ask him to come back for me in two or three hours.
It’s not that complicated. And yet, a vast gulf lies between me and that consummation so devoutly to be wish’d because I can’t make myself actually do it.
The bad part of my brain still has too much veto power. It slams on the parking brake and makes me feel like forcing myself to do it would somehow cause a grievous injury to my soul akin to forcing my leg to bend the wrong way.
Only with more flesh trauma.
Sorry for that image.
And I know that this is just more of depression’s massive crop of lies that it uses to keep me in its grip, but that doesn’t give me the power to override it.
The depression has installed itself on too deep a level for that. My body is biologically and anatomically convinced that going against it will hurt me and that is not the kind of thing my wimpy conscious mind with its flabby will and poor connection to my id can simply decide to go against.
And end result will be yet another summer spent wishing I could go out and play with the other kids and the rest of the year spent in the darkness and the rain kicking myself for not going out and enjoying the summer while it was still around.
And I know I should just accept the truth of my situation and forgive myself for it all.
But I’m not there yet.
I’m working on it, though.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.