Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Mousing to the Left

I've been having problems with my "mouse hand." My newer-than-not-maybe-six-month-total position at work requires a whole lot more time at the desk, with much of the day on the computer. I am not meant to sit at a computer but that's for a different day. Suffice it to say that all that mousing around leaves my entire right arm aching. Not a carpal tunnel aching--a whole arm aching. I decided it was related to bad ergonomics--in this case, having the mouse too far to the right. I have this mega-keyboard (one of those really cool looking ones designed for good ergonomics, of which I adore) so I can't move the mouse any closer to center. I've tried numerous things but the keyboard can only move so far on the pathetic key board holder thingy. Last Friday, I re-arranged my desk set-up half a bazillion times, moving the mouse, the keyboard, the monitor, the chair--everything. I even tried using the laptop instead of the keyboard...but, I still had to use the mouse, which left me in the same mousing predicament.

I was staring at my desk, contemplating the meaning of my ergonomic disaster when it hit me....why not use my LEFT hand to drive the mouse? There is a ton of room to the left of my keyboard. My left arm doesn't hurt. My right hand would be free to hold coffee or chocolate or a pen. I don't use the number pad on the right side of the keyboard (don't get me started--I'm a leftover from the typewriter generation and never made the leap from old school to right-side number pad), so I knew I could shove the keyboard even further to the right.

Genius.

I immediately dedicated this old dog to learning a new trick. Heck, I eat with my left hand, I play the drums, which requires both hands. The left hand is just sitting around doing nothing. I like my left hand. It likes me. Why not give it a whirl? Besides, if Freckles can train me to sit on the couch in the morning, why can't I train myself to left-hand-mouse?

I made a promise to myself: I would use my left handed mouse for one month before giving up. I decided that in order to give this a fair shake, I had to only use my left hand. No cheating. No flip flopping back and forth between hands.

In order to assure my compliance, I changed the settings on my computer, switching the buttons on the mouse to be for left handed people. (Side note: did you know you can do this? The right click becomes the left-click on a "left handed mouse.") Oh sure, I could change the settings without much fanfare, but I knew I would not. I could not. I swore that I would not.

At first, the mouse was on its own mission. It went flying every which way except for where I was aiming to go. I don't know who was driving that bus but it certainly wasn't my left hand. Thankfully, I anticipated this; after all, I've been right hand mousing my entire computer tenure and couldn't expect perfection on Day One. Practice and patience, grasshopper.

I noticed that Day One featured a lot of facial expressions. I guess my left hand is tied to my face. Who knew that doing something new would lead to such nonsense?

I quickly deemed that highlighting portions of sentences (to move them, delete them--you know) was the worst. It took me awhile to figure out highlighting "backwards" (from right to left instead of left to right) was a whole lot easier. Learning to click the "right click as left click" was surprisingly easy. I can't explain why. Perhaps our hands talk to each other and they like consistency: the index finger is the designated driver and the middle finger comes along for the ride.

I was pretty nervous about making this switch during work hours as the powers-that-be at times request I do something on the computer NOW while they are standing in front of my desk. (Ah, the price of competence.) Right handed mousing--BAM! Done. Left handed mousing would mean "can you come back in 20 minutes?"

If there were a document emergency, patience would have to prevail.

I am pleased to say that after three days, I have succeeded in my mousing mission. I'm not saying I'm as sure-handed on the left side than the right side. I'm certainly not saying that I'm even half as fast using my left hand as compared to my right....but, I saying that my brain has made the switch and no longer argues about this way of being and I'm no longer making weird facial expressions. Only 25 more days to go before I can even consider if I want to continue this way of being.

As for Freckles, I tell you this: that damn dog is now barking in the kitchen while I'm sitting on the couch. She trains me to sit with her on the couch so she shuts up.....this morning, she has left the couch and returned to the kitchen....barking. NOW what are you trying to teach me, oh great canine sage? The barking. Oh, the barking. She has a treat. She's eaten breakfast. I'm sitting where she wants me to sit. She's gone outside.....and, yet the barking continues.

I return to the kitchen table and sit down. Guess where she goes? To the couch. Then, she starts barking there.

I'm gonna give her a left-handed mouse right to the snout. 
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Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Of Caffeine and Canine

Now that the Donuts That Dunk has once again come to town, the wife and I are obsessed with the smooth happiness in a cup. This has PROBLEM written all over it. I hear the place calling to me. I'm driving along and my car suddenly veers to the land of pink and orange. I don't need to be buying coffee via a drive through every day. I pray the novelty wears off sooner than not. Having DD in town sure beats driving 30 minutes across the state line to get a cup of joe.

Yesterday, while out running errands, I heard the call. I wasn't near the DD but heard it, anyway. I fought a valiant battle and finally, FINALLY got my car to go home without stopping for coffee. I was so proud!

My victory was short-lived. I put the dog in the car and went back later in the afternoon. Sigh. I need a 12 step meeting for this.

Or, maybe a 12 cup card punch.

Speaking of the dog, the wife and I have been properly trained. In an effort to get Freckles to SHUT UP in the morning, we developed a new ritual. It works handsomely...well, the dog no longer barks at length...instead, we do the work and the dog sits on the couch.

It seems that we have reinforced new behavior but the behavior is ours. When the dog starts barking, one of us goes into "shut her up" mode. When it's my turn, it goes like this:

1. Barking. Barking loudly. Ear-piercing loudly. (The dog, not the wife.)
2. Grab.laptop and coffee.
3. Take laptop and coffee, go in to the front room.
4. Plop dog the couch.
5. Plop myself on the couch.
6. Dog falls instantly asleep. I do my work while seated in my place.

See? You can teach old dogs new tricks. I learned this new trick without effort.

I am not a fan of typing while on a couch but it works. Well, it works for the dog. It doesn't nothing for carpal tunnel (of which I do not have but one must be cognizant of ergonomics at all times). The dog instantly stops when we do what we have been trained to do. The dog is snoring and dreaming before I get through half a cup of coffee.

Coffee from, of course, the land of DD. 

Now, I do NOT go to DD in the morning, as it is too far away. No, I plan ahead and put a cup in the frig for the next morning.

It's an illness.

I have DD for the single-cup machine at home but it's not the same. I don't know what the hell they do to the coffee at the store but it's one bazillion percent better than anything I can make at home.  I've even tried the DD creamer available at the grocery store. (For the record, it is hard to find "cream only." I can find original--cream and sugar--and caramel and extra sweet but not just cream.) Please, novelty! Please wear off. Soon. Very soon.

I am addicted to DD and my life has become unmanageable.

I'm seated on the couch and my dog has become manageable.

I'll take a quiet dog over concern over coffee concerns any day.

Don't need a punch card for that.
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Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Picking Your Poison

Things are hopping in the Addiverse. Between Freckles barking incessantly and a recent bout of food poisoning (that really kept things hopping), it's been like having the circus in town.

I suppose the dog is number one on the list, as she's the loudest and most obnoxious. She's taken to barking non-stop in the morning. It's piercing as it echos through the kitchen and interferes with my desire to enjoy my coffee in the solitude of the wee hours. This started after Lucy died, so our first thought is that she has finally gotten past her depression stage and has moved on to her anger stage: "WHERE IS THAT DAMN OTHER DOG?" It's tough to understand the disappearance of a sister and even tougher when you are more blind and deaf than not. I know she misses Lucy and see her look for her at times--well, look for Lucy's food, which is the same thing as looking for Lucy. That said....

....after much observation, I know we've moved  from anger to "now I've got them trained." I daresay we have reinforced this "bad" behavior and Freckles now knows that we are her minions. We wanted her to shut up so we've accidentally trained her to be rewarded before shutting up. Our "Stop barking! Here's a treat" equals "if I bark, they give me a treat." Dang, I hate when that happens. She's trained us to do EVERYTHING in the exact same order every morning. Pee, treat. Eye drops, treat. The wife gets up, peanut butter treat. Louder, non-stop barking, treat. Barking, get put on the couch and go to sleep. It's not until she's on the couch after this routine that she stops barking. Weekends are a drag because we don't do things in the same order as on weekdays. That messes with her routine, which messes with our piece and quiet.

There is a saying "pick your poison." It is usually used in reference to choosing your alcoholic beverage. In this case, I say we have to pick our poison of barking until your eardrums bleed and waiting for the extinction of this behavior OR being trained by the dog to follow the same routine and to dispense treats as desired. I think it's clear with which poison we choose.

Speaking of poison, I had a delicious case of food poisoning on Monday. Well, I suppose I should say Sunday Night but the worst of it was Monday morning. The wife was sure it was the flu and I was sure it was food poisoning. It's pretty hard to prove which is which, even after a detailed research effort on the internet, as many of the symptoms are the same--both feature things shooting out of your body, feeling absolutely horrific and even having a fever. I didn't have the achy feeling like you get with the flu and this hit suddenly--I was totally fine and then WHAM! The flu tends to start slowly and lead to misery, then aches and pains and delirium. My poison started with an intense, sudden, surprising stomach ache and "moved" (quite literally) from there. I thought I was was going to die. I shat like I was preparing for a colonoscopy. The thought of eating or even drinking anything made me gag. At one point, I curled up in a little fetal ball on the floor in an effort to feel more comfortable. I think that scared the wife--I'm not known for curling up in a fetal ball on the floor. Thankfully, it left as quickly as it came. Twenty four hours later I was back to eating like there was no tomorrow and I felt perfectly fine.

Told her it wasn't the flu.

The culprit? I'd bet dollars to donuts that it was.........

.....the church pot luck.

This is why I despise pot lucks. I'm not a fan of leftovers, I am always skeptical about food left out for any duration and I'm always suspicious about the various cooks who have prepare potluck food. You don't know what's going on with that food or in their kitchens. I almost never eat at the church potlucks--I stick to the cookies and brownies as I figure those are the least likely to cause issue. I ate some rice product (I think it was rice, I'm not sure--it might have been risotto or pasta or something--it was kind of mushy) that had been sitting out for an unknown duration, was barely lukewarm and involved some "gravy-not-meat-gravy like" substance. I ate a whole bunch of things because I was hungry. Talk about picking your poison. I shoveled all sorts of foods so figuring out what might have been the culprit is difficult. Chicken-tainted hands/cross contamination, foods not kept at appropriate temperatures, fecal-surprises-under-the-preparer's-fingernails, hidden meat products, spoiled ingredients....it's all possible in a potluck.

Call it a pot shot in a pot luck.

I didn't call around because I figure I'll hear about it at church next week if anyone else got sick. I suppose it could be something from our house but I'm pretty sure that's not the case. I didn't eat out that weekend, I didn't cook anything real and there's no poop under my fingernails. I didn't handle the dog's poop or touch any canine fecal matter anywhere. The wife didn't cook anything, either--no raw chicken flopping around on the counter for this family.

I'll pick a barking dog over food poison 100 out of 100 times. A barking dog will stop if you give it a treat. Food poisoning will not stop if you give it a treat.

Oh, someone's barking. I best go get a treat. Call me Pavlov.