It's Me, Sara Louise

This morning started off energetically and full of promise. One of those mornings when you wake up just knowing that you’re going to tear right through your to-do list and in the evening when you’re finally relaxing, feet up, candles lit, glass of wine in hand, you know that you earned it, because it was a productive day and you’re awesome. That was going to be me today. But, it’s not, because it’s always something, and I’m an idiot.

Hopped out of bed at 5:30. Turned the heat on, because winter has arrived in Provence. Turned the lights on because it’s dark at 5:30am. Started a load of laundry, because after a weekend away, you always have laundry to do. Turned on the laptop and plugged it in because the battery was empty. Turned on the television because I need a little noise. Turned on the kettle because the the water needs to be boiled to make my coffee in the french press. Sat down to check the emails.

And then Darkness. And quiet. And then I shouted some colorful phrases.

Not good.

Grabbed the phone to call the Boyfriend who had just left. Nope. Cordless phones don’t work without electricity. Never a rotary when you need one.

Lit candles, tried not to freak out, and found the Irish cell phone and made an expensive call to the Boyfriend:

This was the edited version. I’ll let you use your imagination to fill in the rest.

I’m too much???

So when the Boyfriend left this morning and saw me buzzing around like I had a bee in my a** he knew that this was going to happen. And he didn’t feel like throwing out a warning? Maybe a little heads up, like,

Nope. He just left. He will pay for that this evening.

I sat in the dark.

6:15am, one hour until sunrise.

I went to the fuse box, flicked some switches. Nope. Nothing.

Boiled some water and made some tea (you gotta love gas stoves) and waited.

A little after 7 and the sun began to rise. Opened the shutters and let a little light in. Also let a little more cold in. Put on a scarf, and waited.

I mourned the loss of my productive day because you just know that once you let that fire under your a** go out, it’s hard to get it lit again. And I thought to myself how it’s always something.

I played with the fuse box switches again. Nope. Nothing.

9am and Papa knocked on the door. A quick bonjour and double cheek kiss. He looked at the fuse box, pushed a large black button. Power on. That was it. He left. But not before giving me one of those looks that makes you feel like even more of an idiot than you did before. If that’s even possible.