AC/DC

Last week, I discovered this fascinating thing called thunder. You may think you've met thunder; you have not.

Imagining cannons in a cave in an earthquake? You're still way, way off.

I was sure the world was folding in on itself. I fell out of bed. Knots knit their way across my back as the sky lit up in warning. I shook; the house shook. I hid under the pillow; I hid under Will.

(Do skyscrapers muffle thunder? Does open water intensify it? Should I have seen 2012? Does it hold an explanation?)

Then: stillness. The power died, the fan sputtered off. I checked my phone: it was 12:51am. Good: just six hours of restless sweating until the alarm.

There is no sleep without electricity. My life is dictated by that humming cube of metal: the generator.

Monday-Friday

Wake up at 7am. Wake up again at 7:30am. Cook.

Remember at 7:59am that generator shuts off at 8am; bathe under a trickle (or wait 11 hours). 

Perspire standing still until 8:30am.

Hop in mercifully air-conditioned car.

Arrive in mercilessly air-conditioned office.

Turn off air-conditioning at 9:01am. Open terrace door.

Remember what generator sounds like; suffer through 8 hours of dull jack-hammering.

Race to finish Emails before WiFi and power die at 4:59pm.

Hop in mercifully air-conditioned car.

Melt in humid, darkening house from 5:30 to 6:59pm.

Grin when you hear the generator come to life at 7pm.

Contemplate doing laundry in the two-hour window you now have. Decide against it.

Cook/read/Scrabble in front of the fan until 8:59pm.

Sit in the dark at 9pm.

Continue to cook/read/Scrabble at 9:01pm when the second generator turns on. 

Shower (hallelujah!) and brush teeth in questionable tap water (which will, inevitably, run dry  overnight because there's a secret leak in the reservoir on the roof. Wait two days for refill).

Fall asleep in front of the fan.

Wake up shivering at 2am.

Wake up at 7am. Wake up again at 7:30am. Cook.

Realize at 7:59am that you forgot to charge your phone/laptop/toothbrush/Kindle.

Hear generator shut off at 8am.

Chuck something breakable across the room.