Case of the Mondays.
This weather makes me want to run barefoot through the grass, waving my arms above my head and laughing like a fool. Instead, I’m inside at work. Wearing shoes. Not laughing.
One apocalypse scenario I’m no longer worried about surviving? Zombie.
That is, if the teenage sackers at the HEB on Bunker Hill are at all representative of the next generation. They move so incredibly, painfully, irritatingly slowly, they would easily be the first zombie target. Then, once they were zombies and in need of brains, they would never be fast enough to catch anyone, choosing instead to strike ironic poses and grow sparse facial hair while smushing my bread at the bottom of the bag.
In other high school news.
Just heard from my publisher that the stuffed animal play is being produced by a high school. That’s unexpected. The play only has one profanity, but it’s still a fairly edgy piece. (Of course, people – or the FCC – who worry about expletives should realize that ideas can be way more subversive than words like “shit” or “fuck,” but that’s another conversation.) The school is in Washington State about 20 miles from Seattle, so maybe that explains it. This is my first – and perhaps only – high school production. Subverting the younger generation and getting paid for it? Hell yes.