nesting * geeking * critiquing

Feeling Like a Zombie

Whether due to allergies or misguided pathogens, my otherwise superior genes have failed to protect me from illness.

Pop culture tells me that zombification begins with a raging fever; with body temperature holding steady, my fate as a society-friendly human being seems secure. That little bit of reassurance does not, however, make me feel any less like a zombie. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

zombie me

zombie me

For all intents and purposes, being a zombie could be pretty cool. Think about it: they wander around mindlessly with no fear of ramming their thigh into the corner of the footboard after getting out of bed at night to tinkle. By all accounts they don’t even need to go to bed, let alone get up in the middle of the night to answer nature’s call. Their number is unlisted.

Zombies do little more than shamble about making phlegmy, gaspy sounds. My mom once joked that The Walking Dead soundtrack must be a real treat, what with all of the gurgling, moaning, slurping and labored breathing. Frankly, I’m doing a darn good job with the shambling and phlegmy-ness today. I’d fit right in!

Oh, and zombies eat…lots! I’m pretty keen on eating, so that seems like a definite highlight. I guess the necessary hunting process could be less than ideal, though, considering the prey tends not to surrender without a fight. Maybe it’s best to approach feeding as recreation, a full-contact sport. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets a bowie-knife into the gray matter.

And I wouldn’t be opposed to losing all self-awareness. When was the last time you saw a zombie worried about how she looked or what others thought about her? Okay, so Warm Bodies hints that maybe vanity is part of an ongoing internal dialogue, but I choose to believe that is purely the result of creative liberty. I opt for the brainless-freedom approach, existing in perfect contentment whilst looking all dirty and disheveled.

All things being equal, I make a pretty decent candidate for zombification. Given my sore throat, vertigo and assortment of general head-cold symptoms that are impervious to drugstore fare, it might be the best option.

In the meantime, I’ll be nursing a bottle of orange juice and hoping for the best.

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