I was attacked by zombies again last night. I think things would have gone more easily if the door to the room I was hiding in wasn't warped. It wouldn't stay shut! And you know how zombies are, the one on the other side that wanted to kill me kept swiping at me through the crack where the door refused to meet the frame.

So there I was, crouched down trying to hold the door closed, at least as much as it would go, with one hand, and stabbing at the zombie's hand with the other. The only weapon I could find was one of our ridiculous thin bladed steak knives. The damn zombie was persistent, so I had to cut it up a lot. Eventually I put out one of its eyes, which slowed it down considerably. Fortunately zombies are dead, and dead things don't bleed much.

Of course, once the zombie wandered off, there was still the dog to deal with. I don't know whose dog it was, or why it was in the building, but it was nearly as annoying as the zombie. I had to stab it a lot too. There was a second dog, but I vaguely remember dropping it down the stairwell.

Eventually the first dog disappeared too, and a couple of friends showed up. We set about gathering DVDs and CDs because everyone knows how damn boring it is to wait out a zombie rampage. Like one of my friends pointed out, this had happened twice before, so we already knew how boring it was going to be while we holed up in the mountains. While looking through the movies, I found out that I never returned a case to the movie store. Oops. 

For the record, the zombies politely kept themselves at bay while we packed.

I assume that looking up the release date for Resident Evil III is what sparked a very blase zombie dream.  Boredom. That's not what you'd expect the overwhelming emotion during a zombie attack to be, right?