At 6:25AM this morning, a lot of people in the Los Angeles area were awakened by a 4.4 magnitude earthquake.
I wasn’t one of them. I slept through it.
While many people took to Twitter to discuss who else felt nature’s St. Patrick’s Day alarm clock, I was still asleep and didn’t know there had been an earthquake until Melissa woke me up to tell me.
What was funny was that subconsciously my brain had incorporated the shaking into a dream I was having and I thought the movement was just Melissa getting out of bed to get ready for work.
Come to think of it, since moving to Los Angeles in July 2012, I’ve only felt one earthquake — a 3.1 centered in Rancho Cucamonga. As a native New Yorker, all this earthquake stuff is fascinating to me, while also a little bit unnerving.
The one earthquake I’ve felt so far, that 3.1 I just mentioned, happened late at night, just as I was about to go inside to go asleep. I was sitting in my living room and the show I was watching had just ended. I was about to stand up from the couch and I felt a downward movement that made the glasses and plates in the kitchen shake and make some noise. Before I could process what that was, I felt some gentle swaying — left to right, left to right, left to right — for about 15 seconds. And then all was still.
Not bad for a first earthquake experience, I’m told.
People that have grown up their whole lives in California seem to describe earthquakes as minor disturbances that occur rather often, but that they usually don’t have much of a reaction to at all. It makes it very hard to gauge how I should be reacting to them. To me, having lived through may hurricanes, a few minor tornadoes, and tons of blizzards, the thought of a natural disaster — no matter how minor it may be — happening without being given prior notice by meteorologists and tracking it’s route on the news beforehand is just really strange.
But this is where I live now, the land of the earthquakes., So I guess I’d better get used to them.