rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Sluggo wouldn't let me post anything this morning. Just as well, I suppose, as I had nothing to say. (Sluggo knows me too well.) He may have been annoyed that I fiddled with his mouse. Don't look at me that way! I had too! The ball was sticky, and something had to be done about it. I pulled it out, and the little rollers around it were literally felted with dust and bits of cat hair. This is what happens when you have a cat who believes that the mouse pad is there for her to sit on while she helps you with whatever it is you do with that noisy thing you drum your fingers on. Anyway, I scraped the kitty felt off of the rollers as best I could (and lost a chunk about the size of a leprechaun's Q-tip -- it's in there still), and now, as always happens when I clean the mouse, it's gone from being sticky to being sort of flaccid. Apparently, there is an ideal amount of dirt for the rollers to accumulate. Any more and they stick; any less and they fail to grab. At any rate, although the mouse is now marginally easier to use than it was, Sluggo has been punishing me for my impropriety by displaying his surly blue screen, and hiding essential files from me. Someday, I will get a new computer and give Sluggo to a ten year old kid. Then he'll be sorry!

Anyway. The earth is clearly tilted too far on its axis. Portland's climate is here. Do you prefer rain, or mist? We have both, alternately. Sorry, deliveries of California sunshine have been delayed due to storms over the Pacific. At least the day is brightened by the dogwood across the street, now in full bloom. Alas, the few remaining camellias are no longer their cheery red, but have deepened to several shades of purple and brown, like bad bruises. And, this afternoon, even the birds have fallen silent. That moody part of myself which loves gray days has been sated by this reticent spring. This weather is more suited to defiantly lively city streets than to fields and woodlands, which drip with gloom if left too long in shade. My brain, like the perpetually damp trees and silent stones, gathers moss.

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