Last night when I returned from the gym I found the power out. Completely out. Not out in the a-tripped-breaker-in-the-box-behind-the-microwave sense, but out in the entire-block-is-pitch-black-and-everyone-is-scrambling-for-one-of-those-ancient-clunky-landline-phones sense. Spooky. I lit 22 candles, changed into the least amount of clothes possible, made a few phone calls, and sat down to complete some work that was due in the morning.

Laine returned my call and I told her what I was doing. How I was pulling an Abe Lincoln, working by candlelight. She urged me to grab a melting Dole juice pop from the freezer and call it a night.

Brandon called close to 1am. Or maybe not. It's hard to keep track of the time when nearly every clock in the house is connected to something electric. He urged me into an ice cool bath. Urged me to wake up slowly in the morning. Pour a glass of juice. Climb back into bed. Read my book. Ignore work altogether.

There's something about blackouts that ignite this all-rules-are-off mentality. Forget what's due. Forget your plans. Suddenly you're on a plane to a destination you don't even think you were tested on in sixth grade geography class. It's just so unexpected. Suddenly you're cast into some dimension that didn't exist-- not even in your imagination-- when you woke from the loveliest dream to begin your day.

A lot like February. A lot like falling in love.