chances.
And that's always included strangers.
I need to be someone I can live with because that's the home where my thoughts live at and rest and breed.
I need to talk to God—on my knees, with my hands palm to palm, thumbs together against my chin—like I was first taught to, when I was little.
I need to get this out more than just on paper.
I'm sorry.
Dec 17 10:59am
I wish I didn't have to travel by road, but my attempts to negotiate woods and even fields have been futile with the supply wagon (suitcase) I'm pulling.
In keeping with my early New Year's Resolution, I’m learning to run and be happy about it.
I improvised a leash for Mr. Ages and almost had to drag him half a mile to get away from twenty some busy bodies that were chilling out on the freeway. I didn't see them, only three on my side of the enormous accident piled across most of the four lanes.
I was glad for the suitcase's wheels, such as they are. Not exactly muddin’ tires.
I would have lost a lot if I'd had to leave it.
I wish I could leave the ice behind.
Unless I get away from the area, I know it will be with me until spring.
Dec 18 6:09am
I'm going to save one of my Chocolate Royale Slimfasts for that last meal of fruit cocktail. I really liked that.
SlimFast: Official sponsor of Survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse.
Dec 19 10:58pm
I'm in a Starcraft camper. The pickup pulling it was too open—not safe to sleep in. There wasn't a house for miles and it had been dark already for too long when I found the abandoned duo.
The camper was collapsed for travel, but it was shelter enough for us. In the cold, sleeping in cramped spaces is a delight.
Mr. Ages does break wind several times every night and is the worst thing about smaller space.
At least I can stretch out in here—I've been pretty close to a human pretzel some mornings.
I woke up to something trying the locked door. I put both hands over Mr. Ages' mug. Though he'd actually improved a lot. His growl was low and deep and I silently comforted him and prayed it wouldn't hear.
One bark and I was doomed.
I would never know if it was safe to come out.
Eventually I'd have to take the chance... I hate that.
I heard the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps.
"I got some Planters!" someone exclaimed.
I clamped my hands harder. I sucked in on a breath of surprise.
Busy bodies are too busy to talk...
"How much?" a second man answered.
"About half a cup," the first man returned. "That locked?"
"Yep."
"Probably everything's in the back of the pickup."
"It's been picked to pieces."
I hoped they wouldn't realize how recently.
I checked my watch. 9:21pm. It was dark out and I hoped I'd lucked out.
I was also praying that Mr. Ages and I had walked around enough that they wouldn't know where we ended up.
How could I run and hide?
"I need to piss," someone announced.
I heard two "shhh"s.
But it was the second man who ordered: "Keep it down! You want to draw in every zombie in a hundred miles?"
The third man said something. He sounded irritated.
"It is a big deal!" the first man countered.
"You make it sound like I'm trying to get us killed—you're the one who--"
Then all of them were yelling. The second man, I heard say something about making a mistake. The first man said "--always doing stupid stuff--" I don't know who they were talking to.
"Hey! He's got something!" I heard a woman exclaim.
"Goddamn it—I told you about concealing food!" the first man said
"It's not!"
"Show me!"
Then I heard fighting. A weight struck the side of the camper.
I heard punching—so someone was pushed or shoved. I heard the woman scream. It was loud enough, I think, that no one heard Mr. Ages get out a bark. I closed his face into my armpit and folded myself around him. We lay like fetal twins, listening hard and hearts racing.
"What are you doing?" one of the men cried out in a voice so distorted with panic I couldn't tell if I'd heard him already. The woman screamed again. There
And that's always included strangers.
I need to be someone I can live with because that's the home where my thoughts live at and rest and breed.
I need to talk to God—on my knees, with my hands palm to palm, thumbs together against my chin—like I was first taught to, when I was little.
I need to get this out more than just on paper.
I'm sorry.
Dec 17 10:59am
I wish I didn't have to travel by road, but my attempts to negotiate woods and even fields have been futile with the supply wagon (suitcase) I'm pulling.
In keeping with my early New Year's Resolution, I’m learning to run and be happy about it.
I improvised a leash for Mr. Ages and almost had to drag him half a mile to get away from twenty some busy bodies that were chilling out on the freeway. I didn't see them, only three on my side of the enormous accident piled across most of the four lanes.
I was glad for the suitcase's wheels, such as they are. Not exactly muddin’ tires.
I would have lost a lot if I'd had to leave it.
I wish I could leave the ice behind.
Unless I get away from the area, I know it will be with me until spring.
Dec 18 6:09am
I'm going to save one of my Chocolate Royale Slimfasts for that last meal of fruit cocktail. I really liked that.
SlimFast: Official sponsor of Survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse.
Dec 19 10:58pm
I'm in a Starcraft camper. The pickup pulling it was too open—not safe to sleep in. There wasn't a house for miles and it had been dark already for too long when I found the abandoned duo.
The camper was collapsed for travel, but it was shelter enough for us. In the cold, sleeping in cramped spaces is a delight.
Mr. Ages does break wind several times every night and is the worst thing about smaller space.
At least I can stretch out in here—I've been pretty close to a human pretzel some mornings.
I woke up to something trying the locked door. I put both hands over Mr. Ages' mug. Though he'd actually improved a lot. His growl was low and deep and I silently comforted him and prayed it wouldn't hear.
One bark and I was doomed.
I would never know if it was safe to come out.
Eventually I'd have to take the chance... I hate that.
I heard the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps.
"I got some Planters!" someone exclaimed.
I clamped my hands harder. I sucked in on a breath of surprise.
Busy bodies are too busy to talk...
"How much?" a second man answered.
"About half a cup," the first man returned. "That locked?"
"Yep."
"Probably everything's in the back of the pickup."
"It's been picked to pieces."
I hoped they wouldn't realize how recently.
I checked my watch. 9:21pm. It was dark out and I hoped I'd lucked out.
I was also praying that Mr. Ages and I had walked around enough that they wouldn't know where we ended up.
How could I run and hide?
"I need to piss," someone announced.
I heard two "shhh"s.
But it was the second man who ordered: "Keep it down! You want to draw in every zombie in a hundred miles?"
The third man said something. He sounded irritated.
"It is a big deal!" the first man countered.
"You make it sound like I'm trying to get us killed—you're the one who--"
Then all of them were yelling. The second man, I heard say something about making a mistake. The first man said "--always doing stupid stuff--" I don't know who they were talking to.
"Hey! He's got something!" I heard a woman exclaim.
"Goddamn it—I told you about concealing food!" the first man said
"It's not!"
"Show me!"
Then I heard fighting. A weight struck the side of the camper.
I heard punching—so someone was pushed or shoved. I heard the woman scream. It was loud enough, I think, that no one heard Mr. Ages get out a bark. I closed his face into my armpit and folded myself around him. We lay like fetal twins, listening hard and hearts racing.
"What are you doing?" one of the men cried out in a voice so distorted with panic I couldn't tell if I'd heard him already. The woman screamed again. There
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