I survived a horde of biters. A whole slew of them coming through the gates and terrorizing the residents of the Eights. Jet and I were even tossed around like rag dolls by one massive biter. Yet somehow that didn’t seem like front page news to me. I didn’t even take time to journal about it. Which is odd for me considering I’ve been journaling about every little detail of my life for as long as I can remember.

Once upon a time, I lived for my routines, tedious and possibly pointless as they may have been, I designed them so there was no excuse if I did not like them. At one point, I thought routines were over, but life is life and even if the world you had grown accustomed to no longer existed, there were still objectives to complete whether you liked it or not.

Every day is just so much of the same since the outbreak. Wake up, search for food, try not to die, go back to sleep and pray you get to actually sleep more than a couple of hours. Even adding a swarm of flesh craving, rotting, reanimated corpses didn’t really break up the monotony. Though I do have to admit, the rush of adrenaline, the way my heart beat a fast paced rhythm in my chest, the way every movement, every reaction, every decision seemed so critical… It was …. what was it? Fun? Exciting? Am I grateful it happened just to give me something to do besides tending tomato plants and hunting squirrel?

Am I sitting here right now hoping it happens again? Maybe I’m becoming an adrenaline junkie.
What else have I got?

Everyone else seems to have found their outlets for tension or boredom… maybe both.

Some go out hunting or scavenging or whatever it is they do over the bridge by themselves. I don’t really know and sometimes I think its probably better not to know.

Some are having lots of sex. I know this because people forget the walls at the Eights are not sound proof.

Some, I think, are going to the bar or pub or whatever it is they call that place. I don’t see how being drunk is exactly a wise choice with there being man eating monsters on the streets, but if folks are gonna act like fools I suppose they deserve to die like fools.

I was thinking the other day about what I used to be like and honestly I felt like I was trying to remember some acquaintance I used to know. I just don’t really care about anything. I feel numb. At this point, though I’m not exactly wishing for something bad to happen, I don’t think I’d even get upset if I was bitten. At least it would be something different.

The one bright spot in all of this…. I have no idea what to do about. I’m not even entirely sure I want to put it down on paper. If I acknowledge it, am I tempting the fates? I kissed him and I don’t know if it was because of how he’s been so attentive lately, if I really like him… because lets face it, I feel nothing… or if I just wanted to feel something, anything that wasn’t ugly and violent and cold.

Even if it was real, it doesn’t matter because everyone dies and then you are left on your own again. Maybe its just better to stay on your own.