Pardon a bit of a rant mixed with some theology.
I have a quasi-mystical belief in a deity whose guiding principle, whose raison d'être, whose work and joy and life, is frustrating people in small ways. My father encapsulates this philosophy in the phrase "the innate hostility of things." Sort of like an emasculated Gnostic demiurge. It is the force behind Murphy's Law, falling slices of cake, and the United States Senate.
This deity has been busy lately fiddling with the electricity. Yesterday, for the third consecutive night, the power died at the precise moment I was placing my defrosted chicken in the pot. The little ice trap beneath my mini-freezer is a raspberry pink from all the blood. But today, I managed to break a couple freezer-burned chunks apart and get them cooked. You know what I did next? I ate them. We'll see if Yaldabaoth has the juice to give me dysentery.
I suppose the lesson of all this is that I should become a vegetarian.