A couple of months back, we had a series of small earthquakes here in southern California or SoCal, as the hipsters like to refer to it. I have to remove myself from that "hipster" category, because honestly...I've never referred to myself as living in "SoCal." I am, however, thinking about buying a porkpie hat and growing a soul patch. I'll let you know when that happens.
Ever since that series of quakes, my earthquake radar has been finely attuned. We had one sorta big one in there, which made everything shake quite a bit for 10 seconds. Oh, I know...you Easterners...how you'd LOVE to have 10 seconds of rain or snow. But 10 seconds of your whole building shaking, no matter how slight or violent it may be, is an eternity.
Nowadays when my apartment makes some kind of building-related noise--a snap, crackle or pop--no matter what the reason, my body reacts. Even if someone down the hall slams their door, I feel the couch move under my butt (little known fact: those were Carole King's ORIGINAL lyrics for "I Feel the Earth Move"), my stomach rolls over a little bit, and my eyes open up wide (not unlike my experience with dating these days). I'm waiting for that next quake, big or small. The last one had me moving to the bathroom. Don't ask me why I felt safer in the bathroom, especially since the tub or sink or--even worse--toilet from upstairs could come crashing through the ceiling (getting killed by a falling toilet is not my preferred exit plan from God's green Earth).
So if I seem a little jumpy these days...it's because my butt is just waiting for it's next good shake.
Umm...let me rephrase that. I'll get back to you.
I understand you very well, we got earthquakes here too, thank god not often but the last one, I saw my room moving....
Posted by: Pam | January 27, 2010 at 04:28 AM