Electricity. I've always known I was dependent. But there's nothing to drive home the point quite so thoroughly as a blackout.
Last Sunday night saw my suburb (and quite a large number of surrounding suburbs) abruptly without power. All of a sudden I had nothing to do. Couldn't watch the TV as planned. That's okay, I thought to myself. I still have paper and pen, I can write by hand for a while. An hour. The power will be back on by then. Everything will be all right.
Only, it's quite dark inside at twilight. And it's quite difficult, writing by hand by the light of a single paltry candle (in red pen, to make matters worse, because my black ran out after only a couple of lines). Especially if you have eyes like mine. I ended up crouched over the candle, breathing shallowly in case I killed said candle, squinting at the paper, with the headphones of my fast-failing iPod jammed into my ears. Like a child clutching a blankie and rocking herself to sleep, I went straight for the electrical gadget still available to me. Everything, my iPod told me, would be all right.
Provided the power comes back on before the battery fails.
Luckily, it did. But today, one week later, I plug in the laptop. And as I turn away to fetch a drink of water, pop! That's not a good noise when it coincides with electricity. Neither is that smell of fried circuitry. Alas, the laptop power adaptor, she is no more. At least it's only the power adaptor, and not the laptop itself. And thanks to the wonders of modern circuit breakers, everything shut down before the dying adaptor could damage anything else with its flailing electrical currents.
Still. I'm sensing a pattern.
All y'all carry on about your business. I'll be over in the corner, offering up a sacrifice to avert the EMP of doom.