Using this touchpad on the laptop has been hurting my wrist something awful, so yesterday I went to get an optical mouse for the thing. Now that I've got it, however, I still find my wrist hurting -- and I look down to find myself using the damned touchpad. Old habits (well, not that old) die hard.

Something odd happened while I was out. I frequently pass by groups of teenagers while I'm out walking, and it's not uncommon for them to make some audible and unfavorable comment about me afterwards. If our exchange is of a more pleasant nature, words are rarely spoken at length: silent nods punctuated by the occasional "hey" or "how's it going?" sans an answer. But yesterday I passed by a small group of them -- one of whom appeared to be speaking on a cell phone. So despite her turning and making direct eye contact, I didn't realize at first that she was speaking to me when she chirped, "Hello!"

I was taken aback, but after a moment I responded, "Hi." Now, that is generally the end of sidewalk exchanges, but she went further and said, "How are you?" Her pace slowed; she clearly expected a response.

"Fine," I said. "And you?"

"Oh, I'm good," she said. And we continued along our respective paths.

Evidently one of her friends thought the exchange was as strange as I did; in the distance, he exclaimed, "Yo, what was that?" She told him to shut up.

In these kinds of situations, I'm never sure whether these kids are being genuinely friendly or subtly insulting.

Picked up some screws and tiny LED lights (seriously; guess why) and a couple more DVDs while I was out, too. It never ends.

By the way, has anyone ever tried to listen to an audiobook while typing or reading anything else? I'm finding it incredibly difficult to do! Image editing, however, is much easier.

All for now, then.

Have you ever written a really lengthy, thorough, and somewhat personal message, only to mistype the e-mail address and send it to some random person? I mean, the recipient probably doesn't know anything about the situation or what's going on -- and it's really nothing that I wouldn't and haven't already detailed at length here, where anyone can read the page and search the archives -- but still. It's rather embarrassing.

Fingers crossed for a mailer daemon response.

Floory scares me.

And the Daleks continue to haunt my head.

First time ever! I think today was the first time I've purchased gummi anything -- bears, worms, children, Super Mario Brothers and assorted enemy shapes, etc. I've tasted these things, of course, but they're the kind of thing I'd take only when someone else had them. They're the snacks mothers buy, sticking the little pouches in their kids' lunchboxes before shuffling them off to school. They're the kinds of things you find at the ice cream topping bar and pack onto your makeshift sundae at the endangered species of a restaurant that still has that sort of thing. And, yes, they're available in the snack aisle at your local supermarket, but does anyone buy them? Are there people who write "gummi bears" on their grocery lists? Someone must. I never did.

I happened to be standing in the line at the dollar store today when I saw them there amidst the impulse buy candy that every store places near the front in order to pump their customers for spare change and incite violent tantrums from children. (In front of me, a little girl with chocolate frosting smeared across her mouth wailed, "MOMMY I WANT IT," as her mother scolded her for eating the chocolate treat she now wore on her face. The girl was holding what looked like a wax paper bag -- the kind one fits with a cone-shaped tip and uses to frost a cake. She had apparently gnawed a hole in it and had been sucking the frosting from the wound.) Gummi bears. And I would have looked away without giving them a second thought -- as I have so many times before -- if not for the voice in my head. It said:

"Would you like a jelly baby?"

I snatched the bag from its metal peg and placed it among my other purchases. No, gummi bears are not jelly babies, but they will do.

Curse you, Doctor Who. Curse you and your jelly babies.

And not because of the stupid dead pixel thingy, which I've gotten pretty good at working around and not noticing. No, I despise this LCD screen because when I happen to be awake in the mornings when the darkness flees, Mister Sunshine illuminates every single tiny spot and smudge and speck of dust and lint on the goddamned thing, which moves me to commence shrieking followed by ninety-minute sessions of wiping and buffing and wiping and buffing and wiping and buffing and wiping and buffing and wiping and buffing and wiping and buffing in order to remove these horrible blemishes from my sight -- a neverending series of futile gestures because even as I continue to wipe and buff and wipe and buff and wipe and buff and wipe and buff buff buff buff buff the screen continues to acquire additional smudges (hence the repeated buffing) and collect even more tiny particles due to its irredeemably evil static field that somehow manages to attract every single vicious speck of dust or lint within a thirty-foot radius. I swear, someday this laptop is going to drive me to the edge of insanity and then send me soaring over the edge and into the distance just like Charlie Brown would have kicked that football if Lucy hadn't kept being a total bitch and moving the damned thing. Argh.

Your mission, junior inventors -- should you choose to accept it -- is to create a smudge-proof LCD screen that generates a reverse static field that actually repels dust and lint particles. Your Nobel Prize awaits.