my head is killing me. i... uh... startled some folks from work. they thought i was one of the walking dead. jeezus when you write it out it sounds so banal. anyway, my boss. good man, don't get me wrong. he meant well. anyway, he hit me in the face with a shovel. i think my nose is broken.
now, you ask yourself, why on earth are you blogging this. you're injured, you're bleeding, you're surrounded by a very good impression of the end of days, and you're thumb typing?
i don't have to think when i'm typing. i'm an addict my friends. and this little box is better than morphine right now.
fuck i'd kill for some morphine right now. ah. my front teeth are loose too. great.
anyway, they brought me back to the office with them. the building emptied out pretty quick and all of the dead are heading downhill for the town. which means i'm back where i started. wolf said that's okay, he'll find me. he sounds like he's actually having fun. gods i love my husband. he gives me hope and makes it easy to be afraid and still do what has to be done.
some people are talking about taking a boat. maybe the islands are safe. and me without my sunscreen.
hey socal. could you at least have the decency to be overcast on the day of the apocalypse? ~glares at cloudless sky~