Things have been okay for me, except...

You know, I used to fantasize that I could handle myself in an emergency situation. Hell, I've even imagined that, if the tail of my plane were to be ripped off, I might have the speed and the nerve to unbuckle my seat belt, run up the aisle, and jump out from the gaping hole. (My terminal velocity is much more survivable than that of any airplane, right?)

And yet. Here I am. Most of me, anyway. Thanks to my hermitage from pop culture, my snotty "I don't watch TV" which really means, "Watch your trash if you want, but I *value* my time," I didn't catch the news, and so was unprepared. I put up a fight, but my brain is half eaten.

They only got the left side. But damn, *you* try using an ergonomic trackball with fine motor control in only your left hand. Crap. This is going to wreak havoc on my Minesweeper times.

Also, now I have to track down everyone who goes to my weekly pot-luck dinners, and turn them into zombies too. I've cooked vegetarian and gluten-free to accommodate guests, but what do you do when fully half of your guests don't eat brains? Screw that.

Yeah. You know who you are. I'm coming for you.