A Wall

Mouse is still broken, and now, so am I. Doctor tomorrow. Probably nothing serious, but at my age, anything can be cause for concern. Not so much concern by me, but Carolyn gets dyspepsia when she thinks I'm sick. She always thinks I'm sick, bless her heart. Sometimes I have to pretend to be a well constructed wall even as my mortar crumbles.

I've patched together a barely useable mouse, a little fellow made for laptops, that doesn't fit my crooked fingers at all. Every time I move it, I accidentally press the right-side button with my backward-bent ring finger, which brings myriads of pop-ups and I get mad and begin throwing things. I stuck a piece of paper under the button, and I'm getting along better. I just have to press extra hard to get it to work.