Powerless

            Hot yellow flashes crackled in the night sky.  Trees frantically tossed their branches.  Wind gusts buffeted me across the street.  Cool rain splashed on my head and shoulders.

            I turned on the TV news and started to pour protein smoothie ingredients into the blender.  The power went off.

            “No problem,” I thought.  I was wrong.  The power stayed off:  that was Monday evening.  Today is Wednesday.  Residents of the Oak Park neighborhood are still without power.

            It doesn’t help that I’ve been sick all week with allergies.  There are all sorts of cleaning tasks I could tackle without electricity if I only had the energy.  Of course, then I’d sweat even more.

            The worst part about being powerless is the standstill it creates.  The freezer and refrigerator food that will have to be tossed don’t bother me nearly as much as life without central air.  Admittedly, there is more that I miss.  I can’t pay my online bills, check my email, or post on Facebook.  I can’t check the weather or see the news.  I can’t transcribe those 1913 letters of my grandparents, use writing software to plan a novel, or complete the final edits  in my Random Reflections manuscript.

            How did my life become so technology-bound?  Though I can power up my electronic devices at the library and use the internet there, it seems that a few hours is not enough.

            So I sit here in the dim light of morning without electricity.  I am gradually getting hotter and definitely guaranteed all-day pain in my right arm from wielding a pen.  I stop writing to blow my nose, sip some lukewarm water, cough, and then close my eyes with the exertion.  Maybe once I’ve stopped whining, I will think to bow my head and confess my personal powerlessness to the Creator.  But I think I’ll ask for central air, too.