There and Back Again
Made it to Boston, made it back home.
I can't really believe it either. But eventually we were just like, "How bad could it be?" I wonder if everyone is now borderline suicidal, in the not buckling your seatbelt, smoking even though you know you'll get cancer, anorexia sense. Maybe people are just shocked past the point of giving a shit anymore. I didn't feel fatalistic when we caravanned up, though. Not at all. I felt brave. I felt defiant and good. I wanted to be there for my family, and I wanted to show Amy that life was going to get better. There's no other way to interpret the fact that we made it to Boston and back.
The army/guard/whatever they are is crawling all up and down the major highways. I think that the initial crumbling of authority structures resulted in a lot of individual initiative that proved successful; now that individual initiative is being extrapolated upward. (I would also not be surprised if we've pulled nearly every soldier from overseas home, though you'll never ever ever hear anything about that, I'm guessing. Also, when was the last time you heard about Korea? Anything? I'm really just morbidly curious, as I'm reasonably sure North Korea is one of the only countries that's completely lost.) Things moved slowly, but they moved.
I don't want to talk about the service. No, no thanks.
Every time something happens to us, I think "well, we're not the only people this is happening to. We're part of a trend." Travel of this magnitude is a good trend. The trucks are coming more and more frequently. I haven't seen a revenant in a long time. I'm growing more and more incredulous of the "horror stories." Communication and news media are improving.
I'm probably just putting an overly optimistic spin on things because me and my family (and our cats, god bless their furry chins) were able to take what should be a 10-hour round trip journey over the course of a four day weekend without being cannibalized by a dead person or shot to death by a live one. But can you blame me?
Amy didn't like dragging Lucy along. It was tough on the little lady, poor thing. She's over there on the catbird seat by the window, with her little paw over her face, sleepin'. Shhhhhhhhh, baby's sleeping.
I can't really believe it either. But eventually we were just like, "How bad could it be?" I wonder if everyone is now borderline suicidal, in the not buckling your seatbelt, smoking even though you know you'll get cancer, anorexia sense. Maybe people are just shocked past the point of giving a shit anymore. I didn't feel fatalistic when we caravanned up, though. Not at all. I felt brave. I felt defiant and good. I wanted to be there for my family, and I wanted to show Amy that life was going to get better. There's no other way to interpret the fact that we made it to Boston and back.
The army/guard/whatever they are is crawling all up and down the major highways. I think that the initial crumbling of authority structures resulted in a lot of individual initiative that proved successful; now that individual initiative is being extrapolated upward. (I would also not be surprised if we've pulled nearly every soldier from overseas home, though you'll never ever ever hear anything about that, I'm guessing. Also, when was the last time you heard about Korea? Anything? I'm really just morbidly curious, as I'm reasonably sure North Korea is one of the only countries that's completely lost.) Things moved slowly, but they moved.
I don't want to talk about the service. No, no thanks.
Every time something happens to us, I think "well, we're not the only people this is happening to. We're part of a trend." Travel of this magnitude is a good trend. The trucks are coming more and more frequently. I haven't seen a revenant in a long time. I'm growing more and more incredulous of the "horror stories." Communication and news media are improving.
I'm probably just putting an overly optimistic spin on things because me and my family (and our cats, god bless their furry chins) were able to take what should be a 10-hour round trip journey over the course of a four day weekend without being cannibalized by a dead person or shot to death by a live one. But can you blame me?
Amy didn't like dragging Lucy along. It was tough on the little lady, poor thing. She's over there on the catbird seat by the window, with her little paw over her face, sleepin'. Shhhhhhhhh, baby's sleeping.
posted by Sean T. Collins at 10:47 AM
4 Comments:
OK, I can buy that your whole family was willing to take a chance on driving up and down the zombie-infested highways ... but with TWO CATS? You're crazy!
Glad your trip as safe, Sean.
Sorry that I missed your mentions of the trip before, though; I would have invited you guys to stop by Providence on the way back.
Did you come through town on I-95? The construction they were doing on I-195, where it connects to I-95, is a mess. They were in the middle of it when everything started and I guess there just aren't enough people to finish it right now. Or it's not safe.
The bay still smells kind of weird, though.
Glad things seem like they're getting back to normal for you. Not so good out here, at least for me personally. Another foraging trip this morning. Damn thing surprised us. It bit off the top joint of my left index finger. Had to sever it with a hunting knife, cauterize it with a cigarette lighter. They let me go from the triage ward, but my neighbors have me under armed guard. I'd do the same if I were them.
I hope I can write more later. If I don't, you'll know why.
Splitting headache. Not a good sign.
Headache much worse
tingly feeling in all my fingers & toes
copper taste in mouth
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