448. Dark

I would love to write something meaningful tonight, but sit here instead in semi-darkness listening to the sound of my blood boiling. The electricity in most of my apartment finally went off for good (judging by the sparks that appear whenever I try to flick the circuit breaker). Tomorrow I expect many unpleasant words with the super and electrician about why I refuse to pay for getting my wall ripped out in order to diagnose the problem. I'm annoyed that I'm so annoyed, since wrath of this magnitude could be really useful if taken to Washington and directed against a bunch of politicians. Instead I'm still at work (because I'm afraid I won't have any power at all in the morning and will miss a bunch of deadlines), wasting righteous combustion on a relatively insignificant problem of my very comfortable life.

Just before the lights went off, I read this commentary in TorahFax, a weekly d'var Torah by an Orthodox rabbi:

The morning prayers begin with verses of praise to G-d (P'sukei D'Zimra) which describe the wonders of G-d's creations and that G-d rules the world through the laws of nature. We recite the "Az Yashir" ["The Song of the Sea," which we will read at services this coming Shabbat] because it shows how G-d can change nature whenever He sees fit.

If this true, I'm putting in a request for the laws of nature to be changed right now, and for electricity to start flowing once more through that lone frayed wire. Or else I'll start to sound like everyone's grandmother: "Don't mind me. I'll just sit here in the dark."