Autumn is kind of a downer. Fewer hours of sunlight. Trees and flowers slowly shriveling. Maybe I have seasonal affective disorder. We’ve had plenty of sunshine lately, though. And it was 74°F two days ago. In MA. Crazy. But now it’s 25° cooler. After we set our clocks back tonight, the sun will be setting around 4:30 in the afternoon. Cooler… darker. Bummer.
Spring is my favorite season. By the time spring arrives in New England, we have pretty much had enough of winter. Especially when we have a particularly harsh one – like last year – with over 9 feet of snow. I do like snow, but seriously, what the fuck was that? A bazillion snowstorms last winter… and 74° at the end of October? That’s messed up! Are we on our way to the apocalypse? I hope it comes this way – strange, illogical weather patterns – instead of, say, zombies.
Because that shit freaks me the hell out.
The first time I watched The Walking Dead was partway through season one. I was never going to watch, but my husband kept telling me how awesome it was. Eventually, I caved. The moment that episode ended, I turned to my husband.
‘What the hell is wrong with you that you love this show?’
He had a good laugh. But seriously, most of the time, that show is dreadfully hopeless. After some [many] of the episodes, I sit there staring at the screen thinking, ‘What’s the point? Everyone’s going to eventually zombify anyway. What’s the fucking point of going through hell to survive?’ Yet here I am, season six, still watching. Dammit! What is wrong with me?
I already told my husband… ‘When the zombies come, throw me out as a distraction so you can take the kids and run. You know, if you wanna run.’ Because no way am I living in that fucked up world. No cure. No escape. No hope. Jesus, I have hopelessness issues now. I imagine I’d last about four minutes in a zombie apocalypse before losing my sanity.
Eat me first.
Oh, speaking of eating, the kids and I trick-or-treated for less than 1 hour. They did well…