(scene: Gina sitting at computer)
Gina: Huh, that feels like an earthquake.
(two seconds later)
Gina: Yup, definitely an earthquake. It'll stop soon, it always does.
(five seconds later)
Gina: Shit, it hasn't stopped, it's actually stronger. And did that picture frame that one second ago was sitting on top of my entertainment center miss my head by mere inches?
(.2 seconds later)
Gina: What the hell can I dive under to protect myself from the multitude of falling picture frames and candles?
(.1 second later)
Gina: Maybe I should just scream as I run across the living room to supposed safety. Yeah, that's a really good idea.
(4 seconds and 1 scream later)
Gina: I'm standing under a doorway even though I know damn well that you are NOT supposed to stand under a doorway. I'm doomed.
(3 seconds later)
Gina: Is it over?
To my relief, it was indeed over. I was very close to the epicenter, thus making the shaking quite violent. I am a SoCal native, and this was my umpteenth earthquake, but the first in which I was so close to the epicenter. So, each mile closer to the epicenter equals ten times scarier.
Mr. P was in school, and to be honest, what was also running through my mind (concurrently with the panic) was that he was separated from me, and a horrible sinking feeling that if this was indeed "The Big One" that I was powerless to help him.
When I picked him up, he said that the earthquake was tons of fun, and they all went underneath their tables.
Ah youth, you've got to love it. He wasn't even traumatized. Well, that is until I told him the bad things that earthquakes can do at dinner, and now I think I have scarred him for life.