I took the day off work to write, and the morning was quite productive... And then the power went out. It's been out for hours. Some kind of grid problem that's affecting much of the city, which means there's nowhere to go. So I'm stuck in my ancient condo with the drafty single pane windows letting in the -20 degree arctic air, and there's no white noise to drown out the incessant barks of that damn dog and so I'm angry and bitter and disapointed because I was planning on singing along to Taylor Swift this afternoon as my reward for my perfect writing morning but I can't now and I'm unsure if I can even flush the toilet when the power's out. Why is that? Who told me I couldn't? So I'm holding it in, not just my urine, but my rage and bitterness, and I'm hiding in my bed with as many sweaters on as my body can hold and I'm using my laptop for warmth instead of writing. There's only 30 minutes of battery life left. I may have to set my hair on fire for warmth. Somebody talk me out of it.