Some Kind of Normal

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Some Kind of Normal
June 3, 2003

Waking to find the electricity in my apartment was fast asleep, wasn’t going to slow me down. I’m an optimist. Come on. It’ll be back on in a few minutes, right?

I returned to bed and curled up under my down comforter. Electricity can never stay off for more than a few minutes: it’s against the electrical code of modern times. I settled in to do my writing the old fashioned way. You know. Pen and paper. Hey. Louisa May Alcott wrote the book, Little Woman while laying in bed. But. I don’t know how she did it. My back ached. My arms ached. I was getting bed sores. And that was after only ten minutes.

It was getting really cold INSIDE my apartment which had me worrying about hypothermia and frostbite which made me feel sorry for myself for not being able to make myself a pot of hot soup since the stove wasn’t working. I stared at the thermostat again. It was already down to sixty five degrees. I know. If I died, alone in my apartment from the cold, my friends would finally be able to divvy up my heart rock collection, which is all they have ever wanted from me, anyway. Why is it that the one day the electricity blinks to a halt, is the one day that it is sub forty degree temperatures outside? It was completely unfair. I abhor being cold. (I mostly save whining and the word abhor for when I’m cold.)

I stopped a neighbor with a cell phone and called my best friend.

“Ralphie. I don’t have electricity.”

“You didn’t pay your bill, did you?”

“Hey. Half the city is without power. Even the men.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m going to come over to warm up.” I said, teeth chattering.

“Nope. You can’t.”

“I can; I have a key.”

“I might have a date.”

“Do you?”

“No. But I could get lucky.”

“Ralph. I’m cold.”

“I’m just kidding. You can come over. But. Don’t you think that by the time you get here, your lights will be back on?”

He was right. Rather than forging through city traffic, I added yet another layer of clothing.

Well. The electricity didn’t return to me till Monday afternoon. I know. That’s practically a whole year in “roughing it” real-time. When the big moment came, I turned the heat to tropical, and did the “Yippee! I got electricity!” dance right into the shower. I half expected a drink with a little umbrella waiting for me when I was done. Um. No.

I marked the moment-I-had-waited-nearly-forever- for by adding a bit of extra shampoo to my hair. Hey. This was low budget splurging and I was well aware of it. One day when I have more money, I’ll buy a pair of two hundred dollar shoes to mark the occasion. But. For now, extra shampoo was all I could muster.

So. I was in the midst of lathering those luscious bubbles into my hair, feeling totally in synch with the moment, when the water in the shower gurgled to an immediate stop. I know. I laughed. Cause. Surely it was a joke. You know. For the water to quit during my “got electricity” celebration.

No. It wasn’t a joke, which was too bad. I can take a joke. I really can. So. While I was wrenching the water handles back and forth and cursing loudly while beating them with my fists, the shampoo started dripping forward onto my forehead, and kept going down, down, down. Yeah. I know. That gravity thing works for shampoo, in case you had forgotten. I think that I knew this as a kid, but hadn’t thought about it much in the last thirty years.

So. As the soap instantaneously ran into my eyes, I was ever aware that no matter how much you rub at that sticky stuff with a dry towel, it doesn’t help. Yeah. I learned that lesson as a kid too. Oh. Of course. I kept rubbing at those little eyes, anyway. No. It wasn’t that bad. I knew that the blindness would be only temporary. I just needed to find water.

I stumbled into the kitchen. Cause. Remember. I’m an optimist. I figured that maybe there was still water available in the kitchen sink. Could it be that only the pipes leading to the bathroom had dried up? Nope. Not a drop in the kitchen. But. I still think that was a good thing that I checked. Wouldn’t you have laughed at me if there HAD been water in the sink and I found out later?

Ok. Fine. I had a two gallon bottle of spring water on the counter. You know the kind. With one of those little red spigots at the end. Anyway. I did manage to hold that eighty pound container over my head and actually get the stream of water near the troubled areas every now and then so that I could re-wet the dried shampoo. Oh. I know. Mostly I missed my head completely which wasn’t a complete waste because there was a hearty stack of parched, dirty dishes that were piled high in the kitchen sink. They were also hoping for a bit of water (and it did occur to me that they also needed a bit of soap.)

See. That’s why you should never leave dishes in the sink, in case you have a water emergency and have to suddenly use the sink as a makeshift bathtub. Oh. I was far from mastering this new technique in bathing. I couldn’t pour the water on my head. The container kept trying to escape, wanting nothing to do with the spectacle I was making out of the extreme waste of spring water.

And. As I was busy laughing and cursing at the intricacies of a day going wrong, it occurred to me that I had left those damn dinning room window blinds open. You know. Cause I didn’t have any electricity and I needed the extra light. It was a very sobering moment. And. I had a near spontaneous healing from that soap induced blindness that I had been experiencing.

I know. Psychologists everywhere will be glad to know that that common nightmare everyone has of walking around naked in public, I was kind of having it. Only I was awake and it was right in my apartment. And. I was blind. And I was naked and leaning over the kitchen sink that was filled with dirty dishes while I tried to scrape off and wash away the excess shampoo that had dried on my hair and face, which may be more difficult to do than it sounds.

No amount of squinting could convince me that the blinds were open or closed, though in my vivid imagination those same men who crowd around the dumpster and wage bets as to whether my trash will make it into the bin on my first free throw attempt, had a pool going as to whether I would be able to rinse away the soap before I ran out of water.

I grabbed the soap-caked towel, fastened it around me, and delicately walked over to the window. You know, in case I did have an audience. Never let them see you panic, right?

Yes. The shades were drawn. It was a memorable moment of instant relief when you are so glad that you don’t have an audience because even if they saw everything, you would still have a lot of explaining to do. And. Funny as this may seem, because absolutely nothing had changed, my day suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter.

And. This column is meant to be an explanation to any of my neighbors whom might have been walking by my place right about this time. They may have heard some noises that sounded mysteriously like someone inside was having a nervous breakdown as I fell to the floor in fits of laughter. Hey. Really. There is nothing to be concerned about. I just wanted you to know I’m ok. Really. I am.

In fact this might all be some kind of normal for me.

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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