When I was a driving instructor, we would approach the vehicle. “Get in, lock the door, start the car.” I repeated it every time, hundreds of times, thousands of times. The getaway plan. Drivers often looked over at me with curiosity. “Zombies, there might be zombies.” Laughter.
I remember one student expressed, voice altered, “You’re scaring me.” That was exactly what I was trying NOT to do. The zombies were supposed to be fun. The reasons you immediately lock yourself in and prepare to drive off quickly are rarely entertainment, and certainly not worthy of laughter.
Naturally, being the year 2020, the news is reporting zombies. Not the undead human type, although nothing would surprise us. (Even the Pentagon and US Military releases of UFO material went virtually unnoticed.)
Zombie Storms. They have lived among us. But now they have a name worthy of the year. The storm dies down… only to rise again and wreak more havoc.
A UW student assisted at my wound care appointment yesterday. She is nearing graduation from her program. She measured for Nancy. Seven and a half centimeters. Nancy asked me to repeat the surgery date. I didn’t remember. May 17. Nearing four and a half months ago.
Nancy explained the possible suture theory to the student. If my body does hate sutures, they should be fully dissolved in the next month or two. Then the wound could magically be dead, or undead. Or dead undead? Be able to heal. Zombie wound.
micheleplumbstowell.org 