Wakin' to the Shakin'

Earthquake this morning, 6.1, just before 3:30; nature's alarm clock. It's an organic analogue to mainlining a double-shot of espresso; pure, uncut, liquified Colombian sympathetic. I instinctively jolted upright in my bed, ignoring my injury and aggravating my spine, confused rumblings and disoriented tremors functioning as narcotics as I leapt out of bed and dashed toward the doorframe. I realized I was naked and felt embarrassed and vulnerable; the one night I slept without any underwear! As my cock jiggled and jostled, gravity playing a dice game with my gonads, I wondered if I might have to flee my apartment. Would I have time to grab a pair of boxers? What would people say if they saw my hairy peeper? I was sure it would be shriveled and short from the fear and fog, retracted and shrunken like Rick Moranis' dick in Honey I Shrunk the Kids. And then, as fast as it came, it was gone. Relief. Then, thoughts of an imminent tsunami; maybe the epicenter was somewhere off shore and a colossal tidal wave was on its way to obliterate the city. I checked my phone: nope, I was safe. The quake had hit north of San Francisco, in Napa, and all was well; save for a few shaken slumbers and hurried heartbeats.

I texted my family, told them not to fear, and went back to sleep. This didn't stop them from calling me repeatedly and waking me up a few hours later, though. Maybe they thought I was joking, that my safety was a lie. I spent the early part of the day reading; an essay by Julio Cortázar on the short story; this year's winner of the Hugo Award for best short story; a website bringing awareness to the plight of having a big dick; how the ALS challenge is effacing the memory of Lou Gehrig. I met my foster parents and some friends who were in town for Burning Man. We talked about how my attendance is in jeopardy and ventured some potential solutions. We ate Mexican food atop a roof in sick slow motion - our servers seemed capable of moving only at subhuman speeds, like slugs.

Let's consider an earthquake for a moment. What a mystifying and powerful phenomena it must have been before the emergence of science. An earthquake, when experienced, truly feels as though the earth has caught the ire of a vengeful god. The world trembles and shakes and there is a choking feeling, a harrowing, hair-raising whisper telling you there is no safe place. Huddled in the doorframe you feel that at any moment the ceiling might collapse and crush you like a bug, that the floor may crumble out from beneath you and swallow you whole. A reminder, that there are forces at work far more powerful than ourselves; forces that we cannot control. It's humbling, really, and it restores a sense of reverence to nature. It's a reminder that the earth too trembles, that it can succumb to palsied fits of shaking and great undulating destruction, with the same fragility, the same wineglass frailty of our worried minds.

Teaching us that sometimes, the only thing that can be done is to wait.