Random Notes On A Blackout

Something about being bereft of electricity changes the human mind considerabely. Notions that died after childhood are resurrected and rekindled. Ghosts and demons, goblins and little green men. These things are all around us, as we are robbed of our eyesight outside a small radius. Other humans might become beacons in the night: pinpricks of light outside your walls.
Lighthouses.
We never realize how dark the world is outside out electric pods, until it decides to let itself in and make itself at home, the unwanted guest.
There is something oddly, yet deeply disturbing about the light in your fridge not coming on. You're just so used to it. You still flip lightswitches like they're not temporarily dead. Your reflexes are wired for an electric world, and don't shut off with eveything else.
It's always just a tree. I'm always hoping for aliens. Or, at the very least, something a bit more exotic than a tree.
For all these disatvantages, power outages carry an odd romantic quality, like something in a dream you remember, but you don't recollect from where. Maybe it takes us back to our prehistoric days, huddled around the cave fire.
Damn. Nevermind, the lights are back on.
And the fire is out.

May the Force be with you.