Yesterday in the grocery store, I hesitated in the lightbulb aisle, trying to remember what size bulbs go in the light bridge of our bed. This is a purchase that usually falls to Fuzzy to make and I’m not certain why it occurred to me to look, except that I was also trying to find a replacement bulb for one of the lamps on my dresser. I wish compact fluorescent bulbs came in soft pink. I like soft pink, especially in the bedroom.
My idyll in the aisle of illumination must have been mildly precognitive, though my powers of perception failed where it mattered. I couldn’t remember the correct size so didn’t buy bulbs. This morning around one AM, I startled myself awake from a disturbing dream, turned the switch on the over-the-bed light, and was greeted with a cold, dead spark-poof sound.
In this space, it seems, I am now completely in the dark.