It's No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk

I suppose it is my own fault for eating breakfast at my desk. For
carrying a bowl of cornflakes, a cup of tea and a grapefruit up the
stairs to my room and for trying to set them all down on my desk at
once.

All my problems stem for idleness.

Milk overflowed from the bowl and dripped onto the laptop keyboard. Not
much milk. But the little integral mouse went mad.

It's taken me a long time to get accustomed to that mouse. How I moaned
about it when I first got the laptop. Grumbled that when I typed the
heel of my hand would graze the little sensitive pad of the mouse and I
would suddenly have opened another window without trying. How I wished
there was some way to switch it off.

Now I miss the mouse. It won't work at all. I have had to attach an
external mouse. The one my brother bought me for my birthday - a mouse
in the shape of a frog. It is bright green and the buttons are round
red eyes.

I imagine the milk creeping under my keyboard and souring. O has become
temperamental. The space bar is undecided.

Something like this always happens. (Now E is sticking a bit).

I ponder taking the case off and peering inside. I consider myself a
practical problem solving sort of person (space bar sticks) but the
screws are deep inside long thin chutes and of course I don't have a
long thin cross head screwdriver.

I feel mournful.

Under my keyboard mould will be insinuating itself into small
electronic places - won't it?

I should have breakfasted downstairs.