I am tired of a few things right about now:

• unemployment
• being worried about my cat being sick
• my cat actually being sick
• my wireless router constantly flaking on me
• falling back into my natural sleep pattern of 2am-9am
• having to adjust to my new orthotics
• having to get out of the pool while I still have a ton of energy because there’s a line
• being so stressed I still have a ton of energy after swimming 2.5km
• not having a job
• the fact that I’m grinding my teeth when I’m awake now
• my unemployment check being late
• the entire female reproductive process and all the joy it entails
• the four walls of my apartment
• little earthquakes causing petrifying fear of bigger ones
• having to constantly rejigger the numbers of when, exactly, I’m going to go broke
• the continuing need for physical therapy exercises on my bad foot.
• needing a goddamn job.

Some of these won’t be changing any time soon, but the current combination is quickly turning me into a complete fucking crazy person.

That was definitely the most intense earthquake I’ve felt – a 5.0 in Inglewood, lasting quite a bit longer than the last few little wobbles we’ve had.

It lasted juuuust long enough for me to be worried it was the beginning of a larger quake. People closer to the epicenter had stuff knocked off their shelves, but it didn’t even knock out my wireless internet, which has been incredibly finicky lately.

Chaplin was duly unimpressed, sleeping through the entire incident. I will probably be jumpy every time someone so much as slams a door for the next few days.

There was a nice little shake tonight while I was at the office.

At first I thought I was finally going completely batshit from lack of sleep, but then our Production Designer (who feels every little shake in his office for some reason) ran out going, “Did you guys feel it?!”

The best way to describe the feeling of being in a small to moderate earthquake is that it feels like you’re suddenly sitting on top of a bowl of Jello. Everything gets real wobbly for a minute, and then all is still again.

We participated in the California hobby of the Post-Earthquake Pool (everyone tries to guess the magnitude and location), and one of the bigwigs managed to hit the magnitude right on the nose, a feat for which he was justly proud.

Anyway, fun little 4.5 in San Bernadino. There was apparently an aftershock

Yep, I felt that.

I will worship whatever god or gods I need to, I will even sacrifice a goat on the tarmac if need be, but I really hope that what’s been happening in Indonesia over the last few days doesn’t happen in L.A. while I’m still alive to have it scare the shit out of me.

Reading the list of Ricther scale measurements is like looking at a gymnastics score: 8.4, 7.8, 8.1, 6.2… TEN aftershocks between 5 and 6 on top of all that.

Seriously, yikes.

I felt my first earthquake last night.

I will say, I didn’t really realize it was a quake at the time. There was a big jolt and then a little residual shaking, and I figured someone had just dropped something heavy on the stairs.

This is partly because the last time I felt my bed shaking in the middle of the night and thought it was a quake, I looked up I saw Chaplin vigorously licking his own ass on the other end of the bed. So I figured this was some similarly silly explanation.

There was also very little knocked over. The only thing that I recall being out of place this morning was a shower squeegee that fell from its perch into the shower.

But when I came in, everyone was talking about how they felt the quake in the middle of the night (member of the accounting team: “I thought, ah hell, am I going to have to get out of bed?”).

I’m just glad the first quake I felt wasn’t some huge Northridge-level quake, but a relatively lame one. Although I’m sure I’ll now be shouting “QUAKE!” and sprinting to the nearest doorframe every time a big truck drives by for the next couple of weeks.