In the Dark
There are times when I feel incredibly confident, incredibly capable, as if there were nothing I couldn’t accomplish. Up until this very moment, today was one of those days. I had a stellar day at work. I led a meeting with a particularly difficult client, which ended spectacularly. It was if I was reading a script, and I was the star. I confronted the giant bureaucracy known as AT&T Wireless Services and had charges reversed on my monthly cell phone bill, all the while pleasantly bantering with the customer service representative Arlene. After work my volleyball team won four out of five dreadfully close games to clench the season championship. I bumped, I set, I spiked. We emerged victorious. On the commute home, I raced down the BART stairs just in time to catch the San Francisco train, no waiting required. Once home, I grilled, to perfection, that universal delight known as grilled cheese.
Then. The lightbulb situation. Seems like that’s always the one to get me, no matter where I’m living.
It was in my bathroom. Again. As I switched on the light last night, I was blinded by that sudden spark, that sudden explosion of a bulb setting forth its last glimmer of light. On the way home tonight I picked up a box of light bulbs, sure that the process of restoring light to my bathroom would take me mere minutes.
I am now feeling the exact opposite of confident, capable, and accomplished. For half an hour, I have been standing on a stepstool, in my highest heels, trying to dislodge the antiquated globe from the bathroom light fixture. Even as a tall woman, made taller by 3 ½ inch heels to compensate for the true stepstool I am standing on, I am not quite tall enough to reach my raised ceiling. Not quite tall enough to somehow remove the heavy, thick glass protecting my burned out bulbs. I grow dizzy from holding my head back at a 90 degree angle, trying to figure out how the globe is secured, in order to figure out how to unsecure it without shattering it. I glance at the screwdriver in my hand, which I’ve used to try to gently pry it loose. I look again at the light. Suddenly using the screwdriver just doesn’t seem like the bright idea I thought it was only moments ago. I’ve twisted. I’ve turned. I’ve pulled. I’ve pushed. I’ve pried.
And still I’m in darkness.