Four days later: my street is navigable.
Daytime is shockingly normal: the office, the Internet, the coffeemaker. Darling Bebe goes to school ~ I am desperately grateful for this routine for her.
After dark, everything takes on a post-apocalyptic eerie heaviness like something from a Margaret Atwood novel. Huge shopping centers turn unseen hulking masses. Seven-lane intersections without traffic signals where fear and politeness must merge in the interest of progress. The air is tinged with the acrid smell of burning unseasoned wood as families try to stay warm while the temperature drops into the 20s.
Almost every outlet in my office has a device charging during daylight hours.
At night, I knit by candlelight.
I long for unscented candles, all the while being grateful that mine do burn endlessly.
The power restoration maps are little comfort: the communities around mine that showed 100% outage at the beginning of this odyssey are all improving while mine has shown no change.
Projected return to service: Sunday at 11:59 p.m.
Eight days after the lights went out.
Last projected return to service for any customer in Connecticut: Sunday at 11:59 p.m.