Jessica's lack-of-power struggle, Wednesday

NOTE: This harrowing tale was originally recorded using the ancient methods of a pencil and paper. It was transcribed Monday night in a format easily readable by others (because no one can read my handwriting) and set to autopost throughout the week.

Translation: Jessica was unable to watch “My Name is Earl” reruns on Netflix after a nasty windstorm knocked out power for several days, so she continued to blog on paper. She watches too many apocalyptic movies, so the second she has access to Netflix you will find her motionless on the couch rewatching “The Stand”, because that’s what she’s been comparing her experiences to all weekend (even though they didn’t have smart phones or iPods). Oh, and also the #Anniesmove episode of Community.

See all parts here.

 

Power lines caught in downed trees on Church Street -- likely why I'm still out.

Wednesday, 11 a.m. – I am now the 31%.

Most of Licking County has power and I still don’t. I kind of wish today was a work day. Can’t I just take my holiday when the lights come back on? I dropped my phone off at work to charge for a bit. Time to keep packing, one week until the move!

An Alabama Power worker on Church Street, near me.

Wednesday, 3 p.m. – It’s one thing when the whole city is out. You get into a “we’re all in this together, let’s go get a bottle of wine” mindset.

But when AEP is celebrating 70% power, you want to yell at each passing utility truck: “Hey!! Me next!”

I felt a glimmer of hope as an AEP pickup rolled slowly through the alley and stop by the neighbor’s. I went inside to get two bottles of water and snack bars, the best bribes I could come up with for information, but when I came back out they were already gone.

My neighbor tipped me off to some crews working on Church Street, one block over and two blocks up. Armed with my self-appointed “Official Advocate Tweeter” title, I went over to scope out the scene and take some photos.

It was ugly, tree trunks in yards and power lines snarled up in branches.

My buddy’s here. Time to go seek out a cold beverage.

Bad damage to another house.

Wednesday, 5 p.m. – Nothing yet. But now that I’ve had some hard cider and good food I’m feeling a bit better. 

It’s been 120 hours. I need to pack, but I’m climbing the walls. It’s 87 degrees in my apartment, so I can only get a bit of packing done at a time. Upstairs is completely uninhabitable. I’m so over this.

Time to run my phone to work to charge again.

Wednesday, 6:00 p.m. – Arg.

Perhaps the worst part? The sign in UDF’s window: “We are out of ice cream.”

Wednesday, 6:30 p.m. – I was picking out all the hoodies from my closet to pack and loud cheering erupts across the street. I try the light switch. Nada.

Seconds later, I hear a click.

Then there’s cold air blowing against my heels and the light above me illuminates.

I squeal loudly, then I see the neighbor in his yard. “We’re back!!!” I yell. Then I punch the down button on my thermostat all the way to 65, and close all my windows. “Isn’t it great to have power,” someone walking down the street says as I close my living room window. “Yep,” I say. Once I’m sufficiently sealed from the noises of my neighborhood, “Now I don’t have to listen to you clowns anymore.”

Time to zoom to work to get my phone to broadcast the good news to the world on Twitter, go to Brandie’s to get my food, then spend the evening comatose on the couch.

My favorite episode, and quite appropriate.

The epilogue: 121 hours without power. That’s longer than I’ve ever had to go – by about 118 hours.

I spent last night watching the Walking Dead and Community under a blanket. I was cold and I was loving it. 

I posted celebratory posts on Facebook and Twitter, but knew I couldn’t gloat too much. Lots of people I know are still out.

I offer up my washer and dryer and AC to those that need it, as others did for me. Now it's back to work -- lots to do before I skip town next week!