In between, I got my hair cut.
Last night, unable to settle in to sleep, I was up and working on my fourth of ten Toastmaster Competent Communicator certification speeches. I'm currently our club's VP of Education which entails guiding everyone toward attain their certification goals. Yet, I haven't been focusing on attaining my own in recent months, oops.
Anyway, at 12:58 a.m. I heard the walls of my 1947 bungalow-type apartment begin to creak and moan. Turning on the radio, I learned that a 4.5 magnitude quake had just rumbled through the Chatsworth area.
I didn't feel anything, and there were no tell tale signs like blinds moving or lamp cords swaying. Just my little pad, groaning like someone was trying to shake it awake.
Memories of Northridge over a decade ago urged me to sleep in my street clothes, just in case. The rest of the evening was uneventful.
After work I decided to stop and get my hair cut, unruly curls trimmed into submission or at least some sort of short style for the hot summer months.
Argit, my current glamour technician, slapped some kind of "product" (marketing speak for goop) called Bed Head on the 'do when it was done. Did I want to buy some? No, thanks. I can apparently accomplish the exact same look, effortlessly and for free, after eight hours of sleep.
On my way home I discovered that my neighborhood was blocked off by police cars, officers and barricades. Apparently an hour before someone had gone on a shooting spree in an apartment complex one street over from my place, just across the alley to be exact.
It took me a while to get home, and along the way I collected some sights and sounds to write about for valleynews.com, and tonight before hitting the hay, filed a first-person story there on the Burbank hub.
Some days are more unusual than others.
I'd like to say this 30 minutes ahead of schedule tonight: TGIF!