Pizza, My Brother, and Zombies.

I miss chinese buffets. I miss ordering pizza. I miss sub sandwiches, pricey Italian food, and fifteen dollar steaks. God I miss dollar menus.

I sit here with my stitches pulling as I write, eating my billionth meal of rice, canned pasta, and canned fruit. I want to be outside working, my mind able to shut out through sheer exhaustion the total lack of small comforts. I mean, I knew what was going to happen, but to suddenly be struck by an overpowering urge for any convenient food was a bit much for me. The knowledge that I will only have a real, brick-oven style deep dish if I build it myself.

That's a thought...

In other news:

Al and Elizabeth are getting pretty close now. They encountered a lot less trouble than they expected. They think that they will be here this afternoon, while I am sleeping. Since I am kind of worthless for hard work at the moment, I am trying to make up for it by doing night shifts on the watch. I have actually been able to do some cleaning, since we still have an empty house to one side of us. Gabby and her family took the other one...Hopefully Elizabeth and the rest will be happy with what we have done. It's reasonably secure at this point.

Pat, Jess, and Little David haven't seen the group of four we ran into yesterday, the ones that shot me. Our (their) trips out into town are becoming more frequent, as we think of new things we want or need to build. Pat is working on getting a backhoe here, so we can dig a cellar to store some of our food in.

My brother Dave is thinking about coming here as well. He lives out in the boonies, and had enough time after everything started to fall apart to make his property safe. But looters in the surrounding towns have burned out a lot of the houses near him, and while he feels safe from zombies, he has no group there to help him defend against the terrible reality of what humans will do when there is no law or society to bind them.

I am trying to convince him, as is my mother. We worry about him and his wife, their kids. I think he will come around and move camp to our subdivision. I only hope that it doesn't take something tragic to make him.

Jess is beating on the roof. It isn't the steady beat of incoming friends, it's the frantic staccato that means "There are enough zombies coming that I don't have enough bullets to kill them all". She won't fire a shot, as that would draw them toward  us very quickly. I am calling my mom as I write this, letting them know what is coming. Maybe there was a gap in the wall somewhere...I guess it's time to grab a weapon and hope I don't hurt myself too much.

Strange how normal this is starting to feel.