The bed was shaking, something was creaking, and then I opened my eyes. It stopped. My heart was beating too fast and hard. Was that an earthquake? Was it over now? Was it all a dream? Good thing we got that earthquake insurance, I was thinking, as my mind booted up slowly, like an old Macintosh.
My husband has a clock that projects red numbers onto the ceiling. But it always gains time and it’s 10 minutes fast. It confuses me even when my brain has booted up. I turn over and look at my own clock instead with the whitish/bluish numbers on the nightstand. 2:40. “I should remember that in the morning,” I think. I want to go back to sleep. My husband is grinding his teeth but otherwise hasn’t moved or said anything.
A few minutes later, I get out of bed and visit the bathroom. I feel like I’m wide awake but I have a little trouble walking. The room seems to be spinning. I stagger but make it to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, I think, “that was definitely an earthquake.”
I run downstairs in the dark house to retrieve my phone from the charging station. I open up Facebook and the first status I see reads “Earthquake?” “Yep. Woke me up. I can’t get back to sleep” I comment below the status. This is a new Facebook friend and I don’t know her all that well. I scroll. Most of the posts are still from yesterday about how cold it is. Most people are still asleep, even on the East Coast.
But a quick search gets me here: a magnitude 4.5 earthquake near Berkeley, at 2:40 am. I was in California and lived through both the Loma Prieta and Northridge earthquakes. This one was small and tame in comparison, thank goodness. But I still can’t sleep. Everyone else seems to be okay, though, even the cat. Even my husband’s tooth grinding has stopped.
I decide to go in the other room and blog about it. At least it wasn’t a bomb cyclone.