Voodoo Magick

I woke up this morning in the middle of a zombie dream. It was a semi-serious one, as opposed to other zombie dreams I've had that are sometimes silly. In this one I was running, as it was. We had finally found refuge an second story of a house. To our fortune, we found packages of mac & cheese. Oh, we were delighted. While we enjoyed little things during the day, like TV and other privileges from our life before the outbreak we laughed and ate. For some reason, there was little danger during the day and it was the night that needed to be feared. (I notice now that the symbolism of the night in my dreams often becomes an omen.) As dusk approached I warned my companions and suggested we turn things off and retire. Soon after we did that, the new person became alarmed and said "they're coming". He began to pack his things and in my alarm I also started compiling a light travel bag. I remember thinking, "I'll need chapstick". The two people I was with in the beginning refused to leave the cheese they found and decided to stay. I heard the sounds of the advancing dead and then I woke up. 7:54 A.M. Time for me to get out of bed and get to class.

I did little else today except finish my new novel. I was in a rush to finish it so I could focus on what I should be doing: studying hematology and mycology. Although I really wanted to read the book, I dreaded each turn of the page. The antagonist of the book was consistently getting fucked over. One thing after another her life kept getting worse. I would skim ahead to make sure that my dread was not confirmed. It made me angry to read it and even left a bitter, hateful aftertaste in my mouth.

Maybe this is why I feel so strange today. Not myself I say. Certainly, not myself.