Battle torn

I do not know where to start. These words are the first I’ve written in weeks.

First it came for my husband. Then it took my son. I fashioned Gatling guns that spat chicken soup, lobbed dozens of Purell grenades. The boy rallied. As a professional zombie hunter he has hundreds of hours of training in the arts of Nerf, so I was not surprised at his resilience. My husband, however, elbow-crawled through the muddy trenches whimpering, his face swelling from an allergic reaction to his Z-Pak. He bravely endured the “friendly” fire of an antihistamine shot to the buttocks and, although rearmed, relapsed into fever and chills. Loving scoldings and ibuprofen were air-dropped into the California-King-sized trenches.

And then, they got me.

Those bastards.

I should have known not to trust a Z-Pak after what one had done to my husband. You see, I hate to brag but because of my allergies I get 2, maybe 3 upper respiratory infections a year. So I thought I knew what the score was. I thought Z was my ally. Every day I swallowed those little pills and they did nothing. In the meantime, the zombie hunter’s macaroni wasn’t going to cook itself, so I soldiered on in a dirty hoodie and yoga pants, doing the absolute minimum necessary to keep the McLane household running.

By the time I crawled back to the medic, I’d lost my sense of taste entirely, my throat felt like I’d been gargling brillo pads and my ears were popping like balloons. We won’t even talk about my nose. What nose?




The medic examined me in horror. The infection had spread into every orifice from the waist up, save my poor eyeballs . I told her about the Z. I have never heard a medical professional say “I’m sorry” so many times.



Well, as the man with the mullet said, (sorta) I got a new drug. One that won’t make me sick. And yesterday, that was the first day in almost two weeks I felt like a human being with a functioning brain stem.

Just in time for my car to break!


I lost January. Gone. Never getting it back. And I feel SO overwhelmed. I had so many plans, obligations, desires. I haven’t even made a list yet of all the things that need doing. Basically, everything? In my entire life?

But I wanted to be here, with you and the PLC and this blog. Because this is home to me. And before I could even think about mustering up the guts to start all over again, I needed to come home.