Sunday, December 9, 2007

Dear Diary...

I hated the old hippie, and I didn't trust these fuckers as far as I could throw them-- and that wasn't very far in my current condition. They all seem weird, and socially removed. It's like they have their own norms down here, and their methods of communicating, moving, and heirarchy are all so foreign. I've never been to another country before, but our differences didn't just stop at social niceties. I couldn't put my finger on it, but they were more primal than us, almost more animal...

I'm still sick-- real sick, but I don't vomit anymore and they say that is an improvement. Though they don't advise it, finn has been nursing like mad. I know I'm sick, but I want him to get my antibodies so he doesn't get sick too. They say it doesn't work like that, but fuck them. what do they know? Fucking troglodytes. I'm his mother and I decide how this goes, not them. I guess I'm not a very good house guest for trolls.

I'm more exhausted than ever, and Tom has had to recap for me what was said in our little 'debriefing', and has kept me abreast of news as it has come.

I am in containment. I have been here with Finn for a few days-- not sure how many. I was able to walk out of that room, but only for about an hour, and then I collapsed. We had to break down some walls and backtrack through these crazy tunnels to get away from the hourdes of undead that were now underground with us. No one is sure how they got here, since they are so dumb. But it only takes one...

I'm in a dimly lit room with a cot, bathroom facilities, this notebook and pencil, and not much else. I'm thankful for the dim lighting because this migraine is still fierce, but sometimes I think I feel it starting to wane. They say I have to stay in here until six days after the headache passes. Sometimes I think that will be the rest of my life. Tom is allowed to visit an hour each morning and afternoon. He brings me food-- if you can call it that, and tells me about the hippies. I spend most of my time sleeping, but I have horrible dreams, so I shower a lot, too. There's no soap or shampoo, but a little hot water is usually all the doctor ordered to clear my head.

Hazel comes in three times a day to 'check on me' and administer more medicine. She says she was the woman outside my door when I first came to, and she was in charge of my recovery. She seems dim, but well meaning, and against my better judgement I trust her. She says I nearly crippled sage with that kick. Good to know I can still pack a punch when I'm incapacitated. She seems impressed by my skill and strength. I get the impression she hasn't met too many 'emancipated' women from above ground before. Her adoration is annoying but cute.

Oh, it's Tom time to visit with us, and I'm eager to show him how well Finn has learned walking in the last several hours. He slept through Tom's last visit.

More later, goodbye for now.

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