Last night, around 1:45 AM, the engine in our apartment's air conditioning unit apparently fried itself. We awoke to find smoke pouring into the apartment through the vents and spent a few of the following hours getting to know the residents of our local firehouse.

We are, of course, left with an apartment covered in little strings of ash, clothes that smell like something unspeakable burned in them, and a hole in our ceiling. The apartment manager has said that she'll try to get the unit replaced by the end of the day. Meanwhile, the electricity to our apartment has been turned off; we spent the few hours before the morning at a friend's house, but we're unsure about what we're supposed to do next.

I'll probably take tomorrow off to start doing laundry or clean-up. Meanwhile, I'm trying to look at the silver linings--we woke up before the smoke could do untold damage to our lungs or kill us, and we still have most of our smoke-stained possessions.

Am I really supposed to be able to write through things like this?