I had plans for today. For a start, the bathroom, half the kitchen, the spare room, the garage and part of the office still look like they did at 1 pm last Tuesday. We have not been able to actually use the bathroom so there seemed little point in picking up the bazillion deodorants, shampoos, soaps, insect repellents, sticking plasters, moisturisers, shaving gels, razors, various makeup components - I'm sure you get the picture. It seemed logical to leave them on the floor, considering an aftershock might put them all back there anyway. In our bathroom the shelves all jumped suicidally off their runners and there is virtually no floor to be seen. If you want to simulate the post-earthquake bathroom, the closest I can think of is to lock four toddlers in there and tell them to play with everything.
I woke up completely elated at the thought of hot running water, however, in the excitement of getting the cylinder fixed yesterday, we... erm... forgot to flip the switch that turns it on *blushes*. To save on power, our hot water only heats at night, so it will be another 24 hours before that little dream becomes reality. My plan was to clean and tidy and then perhaps do some study. Instead, I've shut myself in the lounge, heavy curtains drawn. No, I'm not having a mental breakdown (not to say that isn't right around the corner though..). It seems that mother nature hasn't quite finished layering it on yet. Today we have 'high winds'. I don't want to call mother nature a bitch, but didn't she learn in kindy that throwing sand in peoples faces just isn't nice?
At first I thought my eyes were playing up, sort of itching and blurry - having had lasik, they tend to be sensitive to drying out. Then I noticed that every surface in the office - books, computer, shelves, couch, me - seemed to be covered in a fine dust. It's the liquefaction. If it can't get you when it's wet and coming up through the floorboards, it will get you when it's dry and flying around in the wind. I raced inside and have attempted to secure the house with towels plugging every gap. It's quite difficult as the dust seems fine enough to come in even the smallest crevice and you can't really even see it until it settles. The lounge seems the best bet because the only windows have heavy ceiling to floor curtains which I'm sure will act as dustcatchers. I'm trying not to think about the washing I hung out this morning or what the inside of my lungs must look like right now.
I just sniffed my arm. It smells like earthquake. Yes, there is an earthquake aroma. It's a mix of mud, plaster (from houses), mortar and sewerage. There are probably dried particles of other people's poo settled all over my body right now. Having now ejected from my fingers the most profound statement ever to appear on this blog, I think I'll just sign off this post and leave you to ponder how much you wish you were me at this very moment. I know, I get to have all the worthwhile experiences, don't I?
Note to self: nose-breathing only.