17 September 2011
When I started writing the Dope City Free Press, nearly six years ago, I thought I might one day get to report on my experience in an earthquake. That did not work out how I thought it might. Had not considered the possibility of me experiencing an earthquake from the relative safety of a water closet.
All we have been getting around here is small earthquakes. I have felt many of them in my life. Not one of them has really been worth writing about. The next day you hear what the quake's magnitude was and you say, "I thought that was an earthquake," to yourself. Then you forget about it.
At home I am prepared for one. Then again, I am prepared for the Chinese to invade. I have everything on hand the fucking government says I should have on hand and great deal more. For instance, I have enough liquor in the house for a month, just so long as the earthquake does happen anywhere too close to Christmas.
A big earthquake while I am at work in the sawmill is whole other matter. I do not like the idea one happening while the sawmill's equipment is running. If something does not bonk me on the head I will be providing first aid to my injured fellow workers. It will not be until that is accomplished that I will be able to think of Sonja, family, friends and the Hammer.