Tuesday, August 23, 2011

As Long As We're Discussing Earthquakes


Today I had to go to the post office, but it seemed daunting to do so with three kids in tow, so when Sam said he wanted to stay home, I let him.

Naturally, one minute and thirty seconds after I left, an earthquake struck.

We were stopped at a traffic light about a half mile from our house and my first thought when the earthquake started was that my kids were having a fist fight in the back seat, making the car rock a little. I looked back at them several times though and they were both just starting out the windows.

Then the shaking became more noticeable and I was all, "Oh, fuck, what is wrong with the car?" I had followed that thought to its inevitable conclusion (the car funeral, followed by the hassle of finding a new car—I am not dramatic at all) when my mind finally connected the motion with the phenomenon and I realized it was an earthquake.

I've lived with earthquakes all my life. Until I moved to Maryland, I've always lived on or near a fault line (Utah —> the Bay Are —> Los Angeles —> the Bay Area —> Alaska), so I've spent most of my life assuming that an earthquake could hit at any time.

I don't remember when I felt my first earthquake, but I must've been a kid. I've experienced a bunch since, most memorably one in Alaska when we were in a K-Mart and all this merchandise fell off the shelves.

When I was little, I had a recurring nightmare about earthquakes, but if I remember correctly, the earthquake in the dream was kind of secondary to the volcanoes, which, I am almost sure, do not exist in Utah, where I grew up.

Incidentally, I was also afraid of man-eating red ants when I was a child.

I don't even remember where I was.

Oh, right. There was an earthquake, but we're all okay. The end.

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