Trackpad

I spend part of most nights using my laptop's trackpad. I often lead with the index finger about halfway down the rectangle with rounded corners that sits subjacent to the keyboard. This single finger affords me cursor movement and as-if left clicks. The outside edge of my thumb joins when the task at hand is selecting text or zooming. The nail absorbs the downward pressure as I initiate the selection. A tremble in the surface below is a green light. The index finger brings the selection to its start or end. A quick muscle memory check-in suggests that left-to-right selection feels most natural, but right-to-left doesn't feel foreign. The thumb and index finger do a magnetic dance, repelling to focus attention and attracting to expand it. The middle finger is the closer acquaintance. Its company enables simulated right clicks and scrolling, among more esoteric gestures. The hand pivots inward on its scaphoid fulcrum and the index finger extends, barely bent. The middle finger parachutes along behind it, often landing first on the silver glass below. Some light engagement of the wrist drags these fingers' pads upward or downward across the glass. There is a three centimeter lift, a variable length pause, and a reversal of the dragging motion. The process repeats. I should be doing something else.