I wish I could green up the grass on this side.

Often, after awaking from what some might refer to as a scotch-induced 8 hour coma, also known as a night's rest, I sit down at my computer. The power still on, but in some sort of stand by mode, I jiggle the mouse and wait for a reaction. and wait. and wait. nothing yet. and then, some action, the desktop is visible. I double-click on a program.
"Snog off," the computer might say with a harsh lower-class tone of 18th century Britain, as if rolling over in bed with a snorty in-breath, "I'm not in the mood"
"Come on computer," I could say, "I wanna run an application."
"I said snog off! Come back another time."
Foiled by technology, I revert to antiquated entertainment methods, such as books. But even as I go about pretending that I don't care, I do care. I want to know if I have any emails. I want to know what the temperature is today. I want to waste an hour reading articles about things I've never heard of. I want to compare fares for flights I won't be going on. I want to do these things but I can't, and it's killing me, and my computer knows that, and it likes it.