Living in "Earthquake Country" is like living with an explosive blood clot in your head -- you're never really sure when it'll blow, but when it does, it'll either kill ya or make you stronger.
After living in California for so many years, you'd think I'd be used to it by now.
But I'm not.
I've survived a few major earthquakes, jolts and tremors, but today's Chino Hills quake was the first time I was actually able to do something about protecting myself.
I remember the Whittier quake vividly because it happened while I was in the toilet. Believe me, that is the WORST place to be during a rolling jolt. Suffice it to say, going to the bathroom the next few days gave me a bit of anxiety.
During the Northridge quake, I was asleep and quite paralyzed by fear. I could feel the room shake like a giant baby's rattle, yet I couldn't move to duck and cover. I simply stared at the ceiling, awaiting whatever was going to happen. In the end, I got lucky - the only thing that broke in the whole house was a lamp that sat by my bedside. It lept over a bunch of toys and paper, only to crash and scatter all over the carpet.
Today I was awake and working at the computer when the "pre-shock-shock" sent my Spidey-Sense into overdrive. I know what it feels like when a big heavy truck drives by.
This was no truck.
I dove under the desk, my heart running faster than my brain. Staying calm was an easy montra to remember, but repeating it over and over and over again just to convince myself was an exercise in self-control.
And just like that, it was over. The news says there's been like 27 aftershocks, but I haven't felt them. I've become a quake snob -- if it's not over a 4.0, I don't give a shit.
Mom and Dad are all right, and I'm still here typing. And looks like LA is getting back to being it's usual crazy. Can't ask for much more than that... ;)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment