1 min read

Bloody fuse and a light bulb

It's after dark. I went to my bedroom to pick up dirty clothes and set the laundry up for the morning.  The lights were on in the living room, I had a kettle on, TV and my laptop. When I walked in and switched on the lights, one of the halogens blew and it blew the fuses as well. The only thing that was left on was my laptop - on battery.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed the flashlight and then a chair from the living room. On my way I turned all the appliances off. I carried the chair to the corridor and set in under my fuse box - I'm vertically challenged and I can't reach the fuses without one. I reached in, reset the main fuse, went to the bedroom, checked which light caused it to blow in the first place, switched off the fuse, went back to the kitchen for the right bulb, replaced it, switched the fuse back on, switched on all appliances I needed and went back to doing laundry.

All that took less than a minute.

When I set the laundry up I realised that I didn't feel anything when the fuse blew other than a mild annoyance. I was clinically calm, organised, very effective and immediately went back to doing what I was doing before the interruption.

Other lonely girls my age probably would panic, call friend or a boyfriend or a landlord and definitely spend more than a mere minute on the issue. It's a silly thing, but all of a sudden I felt great. And independent. And all-powerful.

Go to hell all the people who disrespect me, leave me and reject me. I am miss fantastic! I can deal with blown fuses and bulbs and all other little annoyances life throws at me all on my own. I can deal with everything without anybody's help.

Of course this was just a bloody fuse and a light bulb.
It's stupid to feel proud of that.