Days are moving like hours, or so my father-in-law said recently. It’s true; I wake up, I blink, and then it’s evening. It must be the shortening amount of light each day, but I’ve never felt it so acutely.
Still I did manage to get quite a bit done this week during that blink. I cut my cast off myself on Monday because my toes started tingling again and it was past the two-week mark prescribed by the ER doctors. De-casted, I hobbled around with worsening pain until my Wednesday doctor’s appointment. Unfortunately the doc said my ankle was definitely not on the mend and set me up to see a specialist the next morning. Eight o’clock Thursday I met the most verbose doctor of them all, finally leaving with prescription in hand after an hour (somehow he was still preferable to the five-minute-dismissive type). The prescription was for a pair of künzli boots that give me a very pronounced walk, bringing to mind the stilted locomotion of both Frankenstein’s monster and zombies. I feel pretty.
An open letter to Whole Foods:
Thank you for providing wholesome and delicious online recipes. Please don’t take it amiss when I tell you that the name of your It’s Alive salad gives me the shudders, for not one but several obvious reasons. Do you not have a horror movie geek in the whole PR department?
I’m assuming the reader isn’t currently experiencing a zombie outbreak. If you are, skip to the next section.
Finally, the comprehensive DIY guide to surviving the zombie apocalypse. I differ with the author on a few strategic points, and I notice that pub isn’t a choice on the poll for best refuge sites, but in general it’s sound advice.
Last night, I wove together two dreams: one in which I unwittingly engaged the services of an online dating program, and one in which I struggled to defend my home against the undead.