Earth shaking.

As in, the earth on which my house is built is literally shaking like crazy. The whiskey and wine bottles are rattling in the kitchen, the floor is trembling and my glass of water is making a visual reference to Jurassic Park. It's about on par with the two earthquakes I've experienced in my life. Enough motion to make one feel ill at ease, but not so much that one has to invest in a new set of dishes or break out the survival kit.

It's construction time on our block and half of the city's workers have taken over the streetscape. They are now working directly below me, cutting cement, digging up the road, putting down pipes, yelling and having raucous smoke breaks on the front step. As long as they don't break the balcony off the face of the house, I'll be happy. It's actually a bit of a tight squeeze for the earth mover to pass under it, so I'm just going to trust that our friendly work crew in neon orange vests is keeping an eye on the matter.

I'm also not complaining, mind. How could I when all this is within a fifteen minute radius of my (trembling) house?