Shake, Shake, Shake
12 August 1998
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Shake, Shake, Shake
12 August 1998
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We had an earthquake today. Take heed, yuppie condo-buyers. Me, I was never really asleep last night but not quite awake either, so it took me a minute to figure out if anything was really happening or not. I think in the semi-dream I was having, I thought, "Ah, the habitat's rotation has become destabilized." Such a geek. But then it was clear that the earth was in fact moving, and my reaction was what it usually is: "Cool!" It was liked being rocked back and forth. It's neat.
This is often how you can tell native Californians from non-natives, by the way. A handy tip for free.
The last time an earthquake affected me seriously, it was because it ended up leading to an act of adultery. During the Loma Prieta quake (the World Series biggish one back in 19whatever), I got stuck in the East Bay when they shut the TransBay BART Tube down. The only person I had a phone number for was this woman at work I had been rather heavily flirting with. She, being English, had not thought "Cool!" when she saw the wave move through the parking lot like the wake from a boat. Something more like, "Shit! I'm going to die!" Strong emotions, delayed shock, and we had that one thing that always seems to lead to that other thing, and then another...
Which reminds me of a frightening train of thought that's been developing in my mental back benches lately. I've been married twice, and divorced twice. The first one didn't end by my choice, but it sure wasn't helped by my behavior. The second one was a horrible blind act on my part, I think one of the worst things I've ever done to another person; definitely, I ended that one. And in between, before, and after, I can think of many relationships that I had the most to do with screwing up, through stupid or selfish or jealous or just plain crazy actions.
What if this emotional desert of the last several years - the one that looks likely to extend a long way into the future - is payback? I've never really bought the karma argument, it always felt like I saw too much, good and bad, go uncompensated. But maybe I just didn't watch long enough. Maybe it's a slow echo. And now I'm living in the future I built with my past, screaming match by sulky withdrawal, body by body. That this all is not an accident, that I deserve it ... terrifying.
Yet if it's even remotely true, it seems like the only thing I can do - ought to do - is accept it. Because it sure seems like whining denial would only keep boosting the height of the tidal wave. I've crashed out before, I know what it's like. No thanks. Penitence would definitely be smarter.
Speaking of scary, but in a handy chewable form: 8 AM. That's scary. That's what time I have to set my alarm for tonight. (Again, I should point out that that's like getting up at 4 in the morning in Normal Time.) 8 AM so I can be at work before 10 AM so I can spend the next two days, at least, talking to consultants. I might as well book a room at the nearest mental institution now.
Today's Hypothesis: Visible body hair is directly proportional to loud annoying behavior in public, especially for men. This will not be a scientific survey. Anecdotal evidence is welcomed.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
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All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
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