I am typing this at work so I can attach it to an email and send it to myself at home. Iâm sending it to myself at home because I cannot type it on my computer at home. Why, you might ask, can I not type this on my computer at home?
I canât type this on my home computer because I spilled coffee on my wireless keyboard back in December. [At this point I hear a multitude of Tim Taylor style âHuuuuuuuh???ââs in the background..] Yes, Iâve typed several books of material on that keyboard since then. Well, OK, several very small books. But you are correct, Dear Reader. The caffeinated keyboard continued to click away contentedly for nearly half a year, with only the tiniest of resistance from the space bar. I had poured the coffee out of the keyboard, set it upright to dry, and hit it with my hairdryer almost immediately. When the keyboard appeared to suffer no permanent harm, I congratulated myself on my speedy reaction and resolved never to set any liquids down near my computer ever again. (That resolution lasted perhaps two weeks, but thatâs another story unrelated to the current melodrama unfolding before us.)
What has happened since December and now, that my keyboard would decide to go into delayed-reaction death paroxysms? My guess (and itâs only a guess) is humidity. So long as the keyboard stayed utterly dry, no problems. As soon as some moisture appeared in the air, though, the residue from my unfortunate kava catastrophe became rehydrated sufficiently to start acting like rubber cement. Keys that originally sprang brightly under my fingers now act like Iâm pushing them under quicksand. If I throw them a line, they may rise again from the depths, but the reprieve is only temporary; as soon as I depress those keys again they embed themselves once again in the depths of the keyboard casing.
Iâm thinking about running my wireless keyboard through the dishwasher. Of a certainty, nothing worse could happen to it.
This entry was written four days ago. It seems dated. To try to post-script this into something more current, I pause to muse at this point if Dear Diary's webmaster spilled his Starbucks into the mainframe.