I've been told that blogging about the earthquake is the done thing. The truth is, I'm a bit bored of the earthquake. After a whole week of nothing but earthquake talk, I think I'd rather discuss wigs for kittens. Or perhaps the proper etiquette for licking your plate.
Yet, it happened. I was in a tree house at the time, having a three-way with John Key and Paul Holmes. (No, not really, but it makes the earthquake seem almost pleasant in comparison, doesn't it?!).
In reality, I woke up in the doorway, unable to see anything because all the lights had gone out, having no idea quite how I'd got there. I then proceeded to sob "please stop please stop please please please stop" while my mind went "Oh, right. That emergency kit you were going to get around to updating? ...Yeah..." Then I heard glass smashing and that's when it became A Real Earthquake. A Real Earthquake is something you see in the movies, or on the news in one of those places you have a sneaking suspicion they may have made up, like Haiti or Auckland.
As soon as the shaking stopped, I had an undeniable urge to be anywhere other than underneath another storey in an apartment I hadn't ever wondered at the strength of. So I hightailed it outside in my trackies and my trusty XT t-shirt, complemented nicely by a big coat and my black flats with the bows on them, and accessorised with panda eyes and frizzy ex-ponytail hair.
Luckily there were no streetlights. I cursed myself for having picked that day to try giving up smoking again. There were only three left in the packet. I smoked them all within half an hour while I answered calls and texts. I don't think I've ever been so popular.
I met my neighbours, which was something. I wonder why we chose to wait for the building to almost fall down around us before we introduced ourselves. Perhaps we did it then in case one of us ended up falling through the ceiling onto another's kitchen floor. In that situation, "Thanks for dropping in, uh... er... um... thanks for dropping in," could be awkward.
One neighbour was particularly nice and let me sit in her car where it was warm. She was wearing trackies and badly-matched shoes too. We listened to the radio and smoked her cigarettes until the sun came up. Then I went and bought cigarettes from the dairy before the cordons were brought in. Priorities.
I even have an earthquake injury! Well, kind of. I fell through a grate when a friend dropped me off and I didn't think about what could be in the gutter. I got stuck and they had to help haul me out and my boot filled up with gross muddy water. Now my knees are all bruised black and purple.
But hey! It could be worse - at least it's not a John Key/Paul Holmes threesome sex injury. (*shudder*).
By popular request, I wrote a song about the earthquake. It's called "4:35". I hope you like it. Try to pretend you can't hear the wheezing from all those cigarettes on the high notes.
