On March 20 th, at 10:53 a.m., I awoke to a magnitude 6.0 earthquake which, from what I can tell, originated between my mattress and box spring. The quake—the strongest in this area since 1898—lasted a full 30 seconds. This 30 seconds when calculated through “earthquake-time” conversion (about the same as the “DMV-waiting-room-time” conversion) equals roughly…well…well, I guess it still equals 30 seconds. But the point is, it felt like fucking forever. In the time between 10:53:08 a.m. and 10:53:38 a.m. my girlfriend and I were able to latch on to each other, roll onto the floor, put a kettle on the stove for “after-quake tea,” and carry on a conversation that went something like this:

Girlfriend: "OMIGOD!"

Me: "I know, I haven’t had Earl Grey in a while either."

Girlfriend: "We should get under your bed, or in the closet!"

Me: [Look at bed, notice that there is about 4 inches of space from the floor to the box spring; mentally assess size of own skull…decide impossible. Visualize contents of closet shelves; mentally assess hardness of own skull…decide impossible; say:] "…impossible."

And then we discussed Hume and the nature of moral attitudes. It was THAT long.