Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke
This morning began with an unexpected plot twist: no electricity.
I woke up to the quiet kind of silence that feels suspicious—no hum, no lights, no reassuring background noise of modern life pretending to be stable. My wife informed me, with remarkable calm, that the power had gone out around 7:30 a.m. She had already been deep into her morning writing session, racing against time like a scholar battling an invisible clock.
Apparently, she managed about thirty minutes of focused work before the power surrendered mid-task. Ever practical, she shut everything down immediately to conserve energy, as if we had suddenly entered a survival documentary titled Writers in the Wild: The Ice Storm Edition.
Last night, we could hear trees snapping in the distance as ice slowly claimed them, branch by branch. This morning confirmed it—broken limbs scattered in the forest behind the house like nature’s quiet evidence file. The downstairs, especially, felt dim and cave-like, as though the house itself had decided to conserve mood as well as heat.
And yet, while I was assessing the situation with mild concern, my wife looked… delighted.
“This will be a good excuse to read,” she declared, with the serene joy of someone handed an unexpected holiday by the universe.
Power outage? Inconvenient.
Forced reading time? Excellent.
She read one book, finished it, casually picked up another, and even played the piano in between—apparently thriving in the pre-electric lifestyle. If the 19th century ever needs a volunteer, she is fully prepared.
Outside, the world looks exactly as cold as it feels. Ice continues to fall, coating branches until they surrender and collapse onto power lines like dominoes of frozen inevitability. It is hardly surprising that the electricity gave up. I would, too, frankly, under those working conditions.
Meanwhile, the outage has already claimed its first casualty: our usual Sunday fancy coffee. No electricity means no milk frother, which means no luxurious foam, which, as we all know, is a deeply tragic development.
There is also the looming threat to pizza supper, which elevates the situation from “mild inconvenience” to “serious strategic concern.”
The electric company assures us they are working on the issue, though their timetable remains as mysterious as the storm itself. Until then, the house grows steadily colder, and our cat has made a very rational decision—she is now permanently attached to my lap for warmth. A wise creature.
My wife has instructed me to conserve PC power.
And yet, here I am. Writing.
She can happily read books for hours, but my eyes do not always cooperate with long reading sessions. Audiobooks are an option, of course, but even that feels like an unnecessary luxury during a power crisis. Every percentage of battery now feels like a strategic resource.So we wait.
In the cold.
With books, a piano, a concerned cat, and the faint hope that electricity—and possibly pizza—will return before the house turns into an ice-themed meditation retreat.