Fuck. Me.

It finally happened, the human race truly hit the self-destruct button. But it wasn’t nuclear war or climate change that ended our pathetic saga of humanity, it was god damn zombies. Now, yes I know this is only the first day of said zombie apocalypse but FORGIVE ME for being a little over reactive to the whole zombie take over. Or as the government and world health organization is choosing to refer to it “pellis manducans pandemic.” Fancy words for skin eating, or flesh eating disease.

Yes, there are actually semi dead people, with rabies like bites waiting to turn me into one of them, shuffling around my neighborhood as I sit huddled in the storm shelter beneath my garage flooring. Not to mention there’s one of them knocking its bony arms against the outside of the trap door because it found a way into my garage and can smell me through the metal. What a day it has been.

The pandemic seemed to just explode all at once. There had been pockets of outbreaks and rumors of some weird knew strain of bird flu that was making people act like they were on bath salts. But there was little elaboration and much hush hush around the whole topic as far as the media was concerned. Then BOOM, newly dead neighbor guy from next door is peering in my window at 8am with a blood stained newspaper and suspect bits of flesh hanging from his teeth and bushy beard. Plus his left ear was just gone. There were also 20 more of my neighbors each with assorted limbs or pieces or flesh missing, now searching for their own victims.

Admittedly I’m pretty sure the skin eaters aren’t physically dead, as in their heart is still beating. But they might as well be with the necrosis and penchant for human flesh that over takes their entire being once they’ve been bit. It’s an extremely fast acting disease and it doesn’t take more than a nibble. At least that’s what I’ve been able to gain from watching a mix of disturbingly calm and extremely neurotic newscasters reporting on this subject for the last 12 hours, holed up in my little storm shelter cave. I have zero desire to test out any of what I’ve heard. At the same time, I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll be able to live in this tiny hole in the ground…

I’m also alone, which has its pluses and minuses. It means more space and a lack of a potential zombie roommate. It also means I’m going a little bit bat shit, because I have no method of contacting someone right now and verifying I’m not the only one in this literal living hell. All I have is my 13inch wireless TV I keep in the storm shelter to watch the weather updates whenever tornadoes do dine to hit nearby. So, I’ve done nothing but stare at a screen filled with the normally picture perfect plastic faces of female newscasters that now look like they’re melting, for the last 12 hours.

At least I’ve got a watch or I would have no concept of what time or honestly day it is because this dimly lit hole feels like an endless prison. But it’s only 8:00 P.M. I would typically be watching wheel of fortune right now, because even though I’m only 32 I watch TV and decorate my house like your 75 year old grandma. Don’t make fun of my pink quilts, they are warm and I will fight you. I also body build and box for fun because what the hell else am I supposed to do with my free time with no boyfriend or cats to love me (I’m allergic) and a mind-numbing banking job. So I would probably win said fight. DAMN, I am rambling a lot right now. You’ll have to forgive me. Did I mention the flesh eating monster that is still incessantly tapping on the trap door above me?

Anyway…Maybe I should try and sleep and forget about the rampant disease, death of my loved ones (there’s a few good one’s at the office, we get coffee every third Saturday, and my mom is pretty cool), hunger in my stomach, and most likely imminent death. If I’m honest the hunger one is the one bothering me the most right at this precise moment. Dead guy from next door interrupted me right as I was about to tuck into a delicious eggs benedict with smoked salmon. I’m a little bit peeved about that. Also, I’ve needed to pee for 11.5 of the last 12 hours I’ve been crammed in here.

Well the future doesn’t exactly look promising and I probably won’t have a journal entry #2 because I’m probably going to get eaten the second I step foot on the outside of this door tomorrow morning. Yes, I will be leaving this hole in the ground tomorrow morning, because I will not starve to death in a crawl space when I have a full chocolate chip cheesecake sitting in my fridge. So in that case whoever finds this, balls to you for out lasting the zombie fuckers.

BUT on the off chance I do successfully manage to beat the zombie outside my trap door to death with a shovel tomorrow morning I am going to eat a huge piece of cake, drink a large glass of whiskey, and get ready to head for the hills. Not to mention I will be buying, more realistically looting, lots of guns and supplies and getting ready to fuck up these bastards. I may like quilting but I’m literally going to go down swinging before I concede defeat and accept a world without coffee shops or mall santas or idiot teenage boys with their pants around their ankles.

Yeah coffee shops can be over crowded, but they bring people together. Mall santas are creepy on the best of days, but children are so innocent you can’t help but want to see their faces light up when they get to ask Santa for Christmas presents. And teenage boys who sag are some of the most annoying creatures, but if you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing one trip over his own belt around his ankles as he walks you haven’t truly lived. I thought I might actually shit myself from laughter.

So, screw these zombie sons of bitches. I want my god damn chocolate chip cheese cake.

Dear Diary,

I think I’m going to get fired soon.

It’s not my fault. Not really. I know people will try to blame me. They’ll say updating my nanobots to an unstable beta build was a stupid idea, but they’d understand if they saw the new feature list. Psy-Monitoring, Bot-Enhanced Multi-Tasking, QuickHeal, Real-Time Healthy Behavior Suggestions, FocusMode, Bot-a-Friend, DreamViewer, and a whole host of other quality of life changes? Yes, please. You can’t blame a guy for being a bit impatient to try it out.

I know I had to scroll past a lot of legal disclaimers to get to the download page and click through a bunch of warnings just to install the update, but if the company knew the beta build was that unstable it shouldn’t even have been available to the public. So, again, it’s not my fault.

HR can’t blame me for violently attacking my coworkers. I didn’t have any control when it happened. It’s not my fault that the beta version of Real-Time Healthy Behavior Suggestions are less like suggestions and more like commands. So, whenever Bot-a-Friend would ask if I wanted to share my nanobots, Real-Time Healthy Behavior Suggestions would just take control over my body and Bot-a-Friend for me.

I don’t know what my coworkers were so upset about anyway. I’m sure their wounds hurt, but their new nanobots running QuickHeal fixed all injuries within minutes. I just hope Bot-a-Friend patches in a way to spread nanobots that doesn’t involve saliva or other bodily fluids. It’s gross and my jaw’s still sore from all the biting.

And yeah, there was some lost productivity when all my newly Bot-a-Friended coworkers and I would scramble to Bot-a-Friend the next person to walk in the office, but I think it was more than made up for by the productivity gained by everyone being forced to use FocusMode and Bot-Enhanced Multi-Tasking. It’s amazing how much work you can get done when nanobots physically disable your ability to move and look away from your projects. That is some top-notch stuff there.

A pop-up just appeared. Apparently, I’ve got only ninety-nine words to go before Psy-Monitoring is satisfied. I guess I’ll just keep writing whatever people write in diaries. I’m kind of a diary novice if you couldn’t tell. I wouldn’t even be writing this if it weren’t for Real-Time Healthy Behavior Suggestions “suggesting” I write a diary entry to reduce stress and improve my mental health. It won’t let me do anything else. I can’t even raise my hand far enough to scratch the itch on my nose. It’s a bit annoying.

Anyway, only fourteen words to go. Almost there. I wonder if it’ll let me finish my