Ugh. Holiday fire risk. The outlet in the dark corner into which the old lamp was plugged scorched and melted the plug and its plastic cladding. It was sparking. It was smoking. I used the fire extinguisher on it. I didn’t understand that the extinguisher was mostly powder. It was Christmas eve, for Pete’s sake.

However, this has been going on a much longer time. I didn’t turn on the furnace until December and then only after the furnace guy gave it a thumbs up. The smell of electrical fire–melting plastic–had been hovering in the den for weeks. I couldn’t tell where it came from. I thought it was the dehumidifier, which keeps losing functions–display doesn’t work, auto shut-off doesn’t work–and unplugged it and moved it out. I never looked at the outlet under the desk–or not until I (this terrifies me) heard it–sizzling, zapping. That’s when I pulled out the fire extinguisher.

Now, the electrician (who came on Christmas eve) says I don’t need to upgrade the fuse box. It’s safe. I said, can you come back to inspect all the wires. He said he’d be in touch.

On December 23, I put my oldest cat to sleep. He was cancer-ridden and weak, but a more brutal thing I don’t know of. You hold them, knowing you are killing them. I watched his pupils dilate as the drug took hold. I put my head down and sobbed.

There were no fires in my house after the outlet imploded. On the 25th I went to eat Chinese and see a movie with friends. One of the friends came over on Wednesday and helped me empty some cat-hair and cat-pee ridden boxes. Doing this uncovered the following: pee-ruined carpet. Pee-ruined upholstery. Pee-ruined room.

Today it’s sunny and cold and lonely. The grief has depressed my body: I am slow and confused. Nothing makes sense. I clean, sit at the computer, eat (or not). Time drags forward as I watch, bemused. The future is a heavy black curtain that will flower into days. All I have to do is wait.