1.25.15 I always made fun of people who kept diaries. Honestly, I still think it’s pretty fucking stupid, but here I am… sitting on my bed in my newly obtained apartment writing out my thoughts like some goddamn high-schooler. I’ll be the first to admit I’m losing my mind. Kind of why I decided to pick up this pencil and start writing, I suppose. I’d say I wanted to start this, so that whoever found this thing after the infection takes me would get some semblance of an idea who I am and what happened to me, though that’d be a lie. I’m writing this mostly so I can find that answer out myself. – I don’t even know who I am anymore. I guess I should really start with the ‘what happened to me’ part, right? Makes sense, given I can’t really figure out who I am without the why. So, let me just start with the facts. Here they are; outbreak hit, my parents died, I killed a little zombie boy while dragging my sister, her husband and his sister south under the assumption we’d be meeting up with family in SoCal, stopped in Arklay, met some people, met Eric, almost got eaten, Eric became my boyfriend, we both watched some old homeless man get eaten, Eric killed him, I still have no job. Yeah, that about sums it up nicely. Short and sweet. Anyways, this ‘diary’ is a hot mess. Stupid idea. Why am I still … Continue reading Diaries are stupid, so why am I writing?