Maintenance/Mouse button replacement: Difference between revisions

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I'm your ordinary sort of office worker, one who types and clicks far too often in the course of a day as if this digital thwacking were my only form of exercise. Various body parts connected to these devices are getting old and very much appreciate the mid-range ergonomic keyboard and mouse generously granted by my employer. Office workers of the world, you are advised to ask for at least this much.

Maybe I'm emotionally attached to these ~~toys because it makes me~~ feel fancy that someone once spent a hundred euro on my well-being. Or maybe it's all a performance of longevity as this job becomes a career—like a delivery driver who hangs a pair of fuzzy dice over the rear-view mirror to announce that they were once cool, or an academic whose bookshelf holds all the back issues of a professional journal.

Maybe I've become too emotionally attached to these tools. I feel fancy that someone once spent a hundred euro on my well-being. Or maybe it's all a performance of longevity as this job becomes a career—like a delivery driver who hangs a pair of fuzzy dice over the rear-view mirror to announce that they were once cool, or an academic whose bookshelf holds all the back issues of a professional journal. Either way, I begin to fade when I'm separated from the mouse and keyboard.

The mouse trouble began when I ~~no longer needed this performance because I had~~ moved into my "home office"—the mouse lives on a homemade standing desk not much bigger than a cutting board, screwed to the wall at navel height where I can accidentally bump into it as I stumble out of bed. This is also the ideal height for ~~the~~ extremely destructive impact of any plastic-encased electronics unlucky enough to fall to the floor. My mouse has suffered a thousand of these shocks and its once-noble exterior is held together by a combination of gravity and a handful of the fasteners it was born with. But it still clicks!

The mouse trouble began when I moved into my "home office"—the mouse lives on a homemade standing desk not much bigger than a cutting board, screwed to the wall at navel height where I can accidentally bump into it as I stumble out of bed. This is also the ideal height for an extremely destructive impact of any plastic-encased electronics unlucky enough to fall to the floor. My mouse has suffered a thousand of these shocks and its once-noble exterior is held together by a combination of gravity and only a handful of the fasteners it was born with. But it still clicks!

At least, it clicks most of the time. ~~Once~~ I noticed an issue, I ~~began~~ denial stage of grief and just clicked a bit harder every time, until the charade wore thin. ~~Where this kind of~~ inconsistency really starts to burn is when double-clicking—an ableist caprice under normal circumstances but a fool's errand for a fool whose buttons are iffy. There was a hot minute for which I imagined I had worked around it by software-mapping the right and left buttons to one another, holding the mouse in a funny way so that both pointing fingers reach across to what used to be the right-hand button. Games like this are causing my habits to cross-wire, howecer, and of course I found that the right button becomes increasingly important in proportion to how much it can't be used.

At least, it clicks most of the time. When I first noticed an issue with the clicking, I entered the denial stage of grief and just clicked a bit harder every time, until the charade wore thin. It's not fun to jab at a mouse with maximum force every time, and even then not be able to count on the buttons to click. This inconsistency really starts to burn when double-clicking—an ableist caprice under normal circumstances but a fool's errand for a fool whose buttons are iffy. There was a hot minute for which I imagined I had worked around it by software-mapping the right and left buttons to one another, holding the mouse in a funny way so that both pointing fingers reach across to what used to be the right-hand button. Games like this are causing my habits to cross-wire, howecer, and of course I found that the right button becomes increasingly important in proportion to how much it can't be used.

Maybe I could have found another mouse but the manufacturer cleverly ships it as a bundle with the keyboard. These two and the USB dongle are a happy little nuclear family, and nothing but the vilest of e-waste if separated.

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 I'm your ordinary sort of office worker, one who types and clicks far too often in the course of a day as if this digital thwacking were my only form of exercise.  Various body parts connected to these devices are getting old and very much appreciate the mid-range ergonomic keyboard and mouse generously granted by my employer.  Office workers of the world, you are advised to ask for at least this much.
-Maybe I'm emotionally attached to these toys because it makes me feel fancy that someone once spent a hundred euro on my well-being.  Or maybe it's all a performance of longevity as this job becomes a career—like a delivery driver who hangs a pair of fuzzy dice over the rear-view mirror to announce that they were once cool, or an academic whose bookshelf holds all the back issues of a professional journal.
+Maybe I've become too emotionally attached to these tools.  I feel fancy that someone once spent a hundred euro on my well-being.  Or maybe it's all a performance of longevity as this job becomes a career—like a delivery driver who hangs a pair of fuzzy dice over the rear-view mirror to announce that they were once cool, or an academic whose bookshelf holds all the back issues of a professional journal.  Either way, I begin to fade when I'm separated from the mouse and keyboard.
-The mouse trouble began when I no longer needed this performance because I had moved into my "home office"—the mouse lives on a homemade standing desk not much bigger than a cutting board, screwed to the wall at navel height where I can accidentally bump into it as I stumble out of bed.  This is also the ideal height for the extremely destructive impact of any plastic-encased electronics unlucky enough to fall to the floor.  My mouse has suffered a thousand of these shocks and its once-noble exterior is held together by a combination of gravity and a handful of the fasteners it was born with.  But it still clicks!
+The mouse trouble began when I moved into my "home office"—the mouse lives on a homemade standing desk not much bigger than a cutting board, screwed to the wall at navel height where I can accidentally bump into it as I stumble out of bed.  This is also the ideal height for an extremely destructive impact of any plastic-encased electronics unlucky enough to fall to the floor.  My mouse has suffered a thousand of these shocks and its once-noble exterior is held together by a combination of gravity and only a handful of the fasteners it was born with.  But it still clicks!
-At least, it clicks most of the time.  Once I noticed an issue, I began denial stage of grief and just clicked a bit harder every time, until the charade wore thin.  Where this kind of inconsistency really starts to burn is when double-clicking—an ableist caprice under normal circumstances but a fool's errand for a fool whose buttons are iffy.  There was a hot minute for which I imagined I had worked around it by software-mapping the right and left buttons to one another, holding the mouse in a funny way so that both pointing fingers reach across to what used to be the right-hand button.  Games like this are causing my habits to cross-wire, howecer, and of course I found that the right button becomes increasingly important in proportion to how much it can't be used.
+At least, it clicks most of the time.  When I first noticed an issue with the clicking, I entered the denial stage of grief and just clicked a bit harder every time, until the charade wore thin.  It's not fun to jab at a mouse with maximum force every time, and even then not be able to count on the buttons to click.  This inconsistency really starts to burn when double-clicking—an ableist caprice under normal circumstances but a fool's errand for a fool whose buttons are iffy.  There was a hot minute for which I imagined I had worked around it by software-mapping the right and left buttons to one another, holding the mouse in a funny way so that both pointing fingers reach across to what used to be the right-hand button.  Games like this are causing my habits to cross-wire, howecer, and of course I found that the right button becomes increasingly important in proportion to how much it can't be used.
 Maybe I could have found another mouse but the manufacturer cleverly ships it as a bundle with the keyboard.  These two and the USB dongle are a happy little nuclear family, and nothing but the vilest of e-waste if separated.