The first night, it was fun. You know, snuggly-wuggly with candles and no lights and stumbling in the dark and stepping on each other’s toes. The cat pitied us, her feline night-vision letting her go places we were no longer able to see–like closets, bathrooms, and the like.

Surely the lights will be on in the morning, we thought. The next day, we stared at the sad refrigerator, mourning the food we would have to throw out. I was so looking forward to that apple cider. Damnit. Away from home most of the day, I returned half-hoping, as I opened the door–nope. Nothing yet.

Sunset isn’t so great when you’re indoors and you just feel like your eyes are aging by the second because everything is starting to fade away. Blustery days are hard to romanticize when you can’t walk on the sidewalk for all the debris in the way. Cell phones dead, computers dead. We were all beginning to get a little grumpy, especially as news from friends and neighbors came in, gloating over their restored power. ComEd had no estimate for us–a candle-lit limbo.

Another night, another swath of candle wax dripped all over the hardwood floors. There’s nothing to do without electricity, so bedtime seems like the only option. I took an exceedingly cold shower, cursing the whole time, and slipped into La-La-Land at 11 PM. I was awakened by my next door neighbors, recent immigrants from West Africa, hollering as the little red lights started blinking on their alarm clocks again. Finally. Thirty-one hours sans modern conveniences, and we made it. I have never been so happy to hear my alarm go off.