I was in my Dad's bathroom when the earthquake hit. For a second, I thought the house was rattling because a jet plane was going overhead (he's right under the flight path of Oceana, and jets roar overhead all day long), but then felt the floor moving and realized it was an earthquake. I sat there, wondering what would happen to his fifty-year-old house if it was a really bad one. I imagined the house tumbling down around my ears, and contemplated the probable inscription on my tombstone: She died on the toilet.
It's the perfect epitaph for a Crohn's sufferer, really. Still, it lacks a certain poetry:-). I'm glad the earthquake wasn't that severe, and that no one seems to have been seriously harmed by it!