It is 5am in the morning and already the cicadas are singing as the humidity rises. Obviously, I am awake. The sky is just beginning to lighten, though the clouds cover the morning sky in a veil of mist. Sweat is running down the back of my neck into the light top I sleep in. I would kill for a shower to cool down.
The house itself is quiet. I am hoping the children are asleep. We are in the midst of a blackout that hit just over an hour ago. I am awake. I sleep lightly with a loungeroom light always illuminating from a distance. We are a house of light. Stair light, night light, lounge light. Two TV's emitting a constant low hum. Light to fight off the night demons that have always plagued my oldest. Light to reassure him that all is well.
I am awake as soon as the power dies. I am awake and searching in the dark for my torch even before he screams. I am halfway up the stairs before the terror hits. But not quick enough. Not fast enough to be by his side with light and a soothing hand. Not there soon enough to prevent the rude shock and heart pounding fear that pulls him from deep slumber.
I find all the standby battery lamps and turn them on to chase away the monsters. I sit on the floor of the boys bedroom and murmur platitudes until they appear to drop off to sleep again.
And now I sit surrounded by darkness, the sky gradually lightening, waiting for the new day.
Waiting for the heroes to restart the essential source. Without power, we are also without water. Without water we cannot bath to ready ourselves for a new day. Without electricity we are stalled, waiting.
And so I sit and thank the internet Gods that I still have a little wireless Broadband left over from our travels.
I am awake. And I wait.
Diagnosis by stealth - Yesterday I went to see my Rheumatolgist. He is an interesting guy. At first I didn’t like him much. I felt like he was dismissing me, writing everything ...
3 days ago