So...I'm downright scary-lookin' before I'm fully awake.

When I was a baby, my aunt Brenda said I had freaky, bugged out eyes. Brenda's the highly complimentary, nurturing sort...but she's accurately described my morning time visage.

I grew up surrounded by a population of Germans and Scandinavians. There was a sameness about my friends and myself. We all knew what each other was talking about, and we shared similar cultures. Things have definitely changed now that I've left my cozy circle and ventured into the jagged polygon of life with Miles.

I rented a movie from Blockbuster called Luther. It's the sort of flick that I love—period piece, based on history, epic-like, etc. I particularly enjoy them when I know the subject matter. For example, we watched Julius Caesar weeks ago, and I loved it, even though I already know the story. My first exposure to Caesar's story was the Shakespearean play...and have encountered it in several other studies. Stories of Pompey, Brutis, Cassius, Cleopatra, Mark Antony, Portia, and Calpurnia all intersect, naturally. (That reminds me, I once had an English teacher that wanted to name a son Brutis and a daughter Portia....I really hope he reconsidered. Poor kids.)

Luther held similar interest for me. As the DVD was loading, my motorized mouth began humming information that I knew about Martin Luther. Finally, Miles stopped me to inquire, "Who is this guy? I've never heard of him before? How do you know so much about him?"

I was taken aback. "Martin Luther? You know, Martin Luther! The German Monk from the 1500's? The Small Catechism? Any of this ring a bell?" He shook his head. "How the heck did you make it to adulthood without learning about Martin Luther? Didn't they talk about him in your church or Sunday school?"

"No...but I think I just stumbled upon something," he replied with a wink. "You're Lutheran, I'm not. You know, Luther-an."

"Oh. Right. Yeah."

What, you mean everybody isn't Lutheran? I missed that memo! But seriously—I have so many "duh" moments with Miles. He keeps one of my eyebrows raised most of the time...I'm going to have very silly wrinkles.

I love the outdoors. I love the soft breezes, the green grass, the brilliant flowers...the pebbles, the freshly turned soil, and the ponds. I love it all, except when it tries to come indoors...which it is trying to do right this very moment.

I open the house for these beautiful days. I unshut the windows (well, those that aren't missing screens...naughty Miles) and I raise the storm panels on the screen doors. I love hearing the birds during the day, along with the young children playing in the play area nearby. Happy, delightful sounds...makes for happy, delightful Lauras.

I also enjoy a clean house, as has been well documented. I like shiny surfaces, the smell of Lysol, and the carpet tracks of a fresh vacuuming. Call them cheap thrills, if you will. This is not well suited to springtime in Wilmington, NC.

Yellow dust. Everywhere. It is a vile instrument that causes me to be unsound. Miles stands, dumbfounded and not a little patronizing, in the living room every night as I vent. He tells me, "Hon. It's clean. We have the cleanest house that I have ever been in." The man is blind. I swear he's blind. He's just got to be blind.

The title, naturally, comes from Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" which has absolutely nothing to do with my post, but it uses my computer's name. I felt I should warn you in case you were looking to read a stunning dissertation on the subject T.S. Eliot.

This week has been one computer disaster after another. It began Sunday evening with the laptop started losing its connection to the AC adapter. The computer, still under warranty [thankfully], needs to be shipped off to HP to be fixed. So I set up my desktop, Michelangelo, to use for work.

Michelangelo wouldn't load Windows (this was Monday morning). I blew the dust off of my storage box of consulting tricks and found none that fit the bill. I still do not regret giving up my life as a consultant or programmer...highly uninteresting work. (Sorry Miles, but it's true.)

I called Miles and told him what was happening. He decided to pick up the computer after a lunch meeting and replace parts as needed. He showed up at about 2PM and left again quickly. Hours later he called me, and I could hear the smug smile upon his lips as he said, "Guess what?" I didn't have to guess, I knew. I remained silent, increasing the strength of my bite as I kept my mouth closed. "I just plugged in Michelangelo, and he boots just fine. No problems."

"Okie doke," I forced out, the cheeriness false to my own ears but no doubt good enough to fool my loutish husband. He does this all the time. He takes buggy computers, does nothing but turn them on, and they miraculously work. Frustrating as all get-out, that lad is! There was something legitimately wrong with my computer, and I KNEW it.

Monday evening he returned home with Michelangelo. (That's right, folks. No internet ALL. STINKING. DAY. ) He loaded perfectly. This morning, Miles bore witness to Michelangelo having a fit...a really serious, there's-something-legitimately-wrong-with-me fit. After he departed, I coaxed the shotty contraption into submission and have been using him all day. Though, I've whipped my head around several times to see where they're mowing lawn, only to remember that that horrible racket IS THE COMPUTER.

Miles isn't so smug now, HAH!—And, while this pleases me, I have to wonder why...as it is me without a properly functioning computer...