a conversation
[with stage directions]

I only know it's the 20th today by mentally counting the number of days I've been stuck at home since the last entry. The flu is still raging, so the trip to Auckland was cancelled, work has been pushed aside, and I've inflicted myself on Debbie and Matthew.

I've been hit really hard - sweating and chills, rasping coughs, chest filling with phlegm, dripping noses and leaking eyes. Oh yes, and an absolute lack of energy for anything.

I've got a duplicitous attitude towards suffering from flu. I don't like it, and can feel completely miserable, but, in a sneaky sort of a way, there's a small part of me that takes a little bit of pleasure in it. It means no work. It means being taken care of. And it means sitting in warm rooms reading or playing on the 'puter, or dozing late in bed.

But, y'understand, that's only a small part of me. Right?

A big southerly storm hit just on dusk tonight. It had been a fine, calm, but cold day, and then the clouds started building up. Thick black nimbus clouds, riding ominous up over the hills, staring us down from the south. I love the stillness just before it hits.

And with a crash of lightening, all of Wellington was plunged into darkness. Yup, a power cut.

I like power cuts. There's something about them that brings out the ur-mike, the being that had to survive without the trappings of modern society.

I'm just laughing at what I wrote. I was going to write, following on from the sentence above, that one of ways ur-mike (and know that this is the first time he has been named!) manifests himself is with a feeling of satisfaction after coming home from the supermarket and stocking up on food and supplies. Like, if a war started now, we'd be able to survive for a while. Supermarkets, trappings of modern society ...... hmmm.

So, I was sitting there in the darkness, Matthew asleep in my arms, planning out a strategy if the power cut continued overnight. Well, yes, we have some candles. Scented candles used last Saturday night, but candles nevertheless.

But. No food in the house except the frozen chicken we were going to cook tonight. Our only torches in the garden shed, down a dark pathway, buried inside packs in a dark room. Sleeping bags, ditto.

Deb mentioned that we did have tinned cat food, and god knows they eat enough of our food.

Please god, let the lights come back on.

And, you know what? They did.