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I spent today . . .

. . . with dear friends, moving furniture. It was hard work and I mashed my hands more times than I care to remember, but it was just what I needed.

It was also a day of 'firsts' - first time driving with a trailer. First time backing a trailer. 

And then, at 12.51pm, we sat on the deck of my friend's house, looked out over Lyttelton Port and remembered.

So much has changed. Yet I have to be careful that I don't confuse 'earthquake' changes with 'returning to work' changes. I'd only been back from maternity leave for just over a month when the earthquake happened so in some ways it's hard to separate out the experiences. I feel as though I haven't seen nearly enough of these dear friends in the last 12 months. Some of that I can blame on the earthquake, and some of that comes from working full-time again.

I am so grateful that my family and friends got through this alive and relatively unscathed. So grateful.

Tonight, after Little Man was in bed, I walked back in to Latimer Square, retracing that panicked run of a year ago. I haven't been back since the earthquake. The building where I used to work is now just an empty lot - one of many. This time all I could hear were cicadas. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos of a year ago - both peaceful and a little bit heartbreaking. 

I'm so glad the anniversary is over. I spent it the way I needed to, and now I just want to move on.

one year ago today . . .

 . . . things changed. Not as much as things changed after 22 February, but things definitely changed.

For starters, this time last year Little Man had a stomach bug. Today he only has a cold. Mind you, it is his MILLIONTH COLD THIS YEAR but hey, at least he's only leaking from the nose.

We celebrated the anniversary (and I use the term 'celebrated' very loosely) by going to Sumner for a walk along the beach and to see their festival. We didn't take part in the 'group hug' because I am just not that way inclined. As a general rule, I don't hug. OK, I hug my nearest and dearest, but I'm not going to start hugging randoms just because we've all been through a big earthquake.

Then tonight, when Little Man was in bed, Muz and I looked out our living room window and watched the turning on of the White Lights of Hope.As I post this, stuff starts to rattle around me. Another aftershock. Apparently we've had more than 8,000 since September last year. They are getting less frequent, but clearly the end is not yet in sight.

another day, another 6 magnitude earthquake . . .

I am a words person. I like words. They are, for the most part, my friends. However, I am struggling to find the words to express just how much I am over this shite. OVER. THIS. SHITE.

I confess I didn't even feel the first 5.5 magnitude earthquake that kicked off this afternoon's festivities. I was walking across railway lines at the time and was completely oblivious to what was happening beneath my feet. However, I was back in the office when the 6.0 struck and that had me diving under my desk. I watched the glass in the windows ripple. Rippling windows, people - that's some freaky shit.

It took several hours to get home - a combination of crawling car rides and a walk in inappropriate shoes. By the time I finally arrived my partner and Little Man had done an admirable job of cleaning up the worst of the mess, though the garage is still a bit of a disaster site and remains so tonight because we just can't be arsed doing any more. Behold, our garage. A work in progress . . .

On the positive, we have power and would even appear to have water back on, though we've been told to use it very sparingly. Wouldn't trust it either, given the state of the road outside our house. I'd hazard a guess that there could be some unsavoury 'cross-contamination' going on. 

I say again: OVER.THIS. SHITE.

the new normal

The 'new normal' is the latest catch-phrase about town. It's how everyone is describing what it's like to live in broken houses, in a broken city. I have to be honest, this whole 'new normal' is taking some getting used to and I'm just not there yet.

Everything is harder, post 22 February. It's just small stuff but, cumulatively, it all adds up. For starters,  I used to walk to work. I know - not a biggie and I really should build a bridge and get over it, but the thing is, I really liked walking to work. It was my 'think time' - my time to gear myself up in the mornings and wind down in the afternoons. Now I have to bike. It's the compromise I make to spend more time with Little Man. The traffic is so freakin' bad at the moment that you either spend forever stuck in traffic jams or you leave early.  By biking, I can leave later and still get to work on time.

However, biking is not a relaxing 'gear up' and 'wind down'. It is a nightmarish journey on earthquake damaged roads while surrounded on all sides by cars hell-bent on trying to kill you. I have only been biking a few weeks and I have already been car-doored. One minute I was biking along, the next I was lying on the road. I had no time to react. All I could do was exchange some pleasantries with the driver before it all ended in tears - quite literally.

Biking also means I seem to spend half my day getting dressed, undressed and dressed again. My working wardrobe is now determined by what I can fit in my backpack. And I am also finding it disproportionately hard to remember to pack everything I will need. There was the memorable day I forgot shoes and had to spend the day walking round in bike shoes . . . not my best look. 

I liked living close to the centre of town. I also liked working in town. While I am not so stupid as to mention my job on this blog, I will say this much - I work for a company that used to have offices in the central city but has now had to relocate to a cultural wasteland. I also work in an industry that is very, very busy post-earthquake.

Everything is just harder now and the mundane details seem more time-consuming.

Time to get over myself, I think. This is the 'new normal' - harden up, Princess, and deal with it.

You know you are in Christchurch when . . . … you realise this is the first time you've seen inside that church and you're actually driving past it at the time.

we're still here . . .

There's hardly a wineglass left in the place but we're still standing. We're still alive, as are our family and friends, and for that I am eternally grateful.

I was at work when the earthquake happened. My partner and Little Man were out and about, running errands. It took about an hour before I heard from them. Longest bloody hour of my life, during which time my overactive imagination had me screwed up in knots.

We have some cleaning up to do and we've lost a lot of stuff. But it's only stuff. You can replace stuff. People not so much.