Adrian's Undead Diary Enter the World of AUD

December 24^th.

                Oh the weather outside is…  mediocre.  We’ve had a bit of a warm streak here.  He days have been right around 45 or 50, and the nights are staying at about 30.  Feels like early November, not almost January.  Not almost Christmas.

                Officially, we are shut down for the next few days.  All we are doing is preparing food for tomorrow, performing basic security tasks, basic maintenance tasks, and being human beings.  I’m sick of us being human “doings.”  We never relax anymore.  We push, we work, we slave, and reap the meager benefits of that massive amount of labor.  I’ve said this several times already, but it is SO MUCH work to just exist right now.  I’d like to do the math sometime on how many labor hours go into each calorie we consume.  I bet the ratio sucks. 

                Despite my ranting and raving, I am in a very good mood, and I have precious little to actually talk about.  Our young guest Sylvia has dramatically reduced her violence against us when she sees us.  We post a guard at her closed and locked door, and when we go in to feed her, or talk to her, she used to attack quite literally on sight.  Now she sits patiently on the bed, clearly in fear of us.  Michelle has taken the lead in trying to make contact with her, and she has stopped attacking her entirely.  Every once in awhile she will try and bite or scratch the guard, but if we recoil, she’s been dropping her attack and calming down.

                I guess that’s progress.  Michelle and I have had lengthy conversations about her, and whether or not she’s a project worth working on.  She maintains there’s no choice in the matter.  We HAVE to help her.  I maintain that she is a lot of work, and she is taking away from the greater good.  Most of the people guarding her want to break her jaw.  Hell, I already tried.

                Michelle is back to teaching, which is funny, because we gave the kids a few days off for the holiday.  I think it’s Hanukah right now too, so we decided to give the kids a week off.  So yeah, she’s back to teaching, and yeah, she just sent the kids on break.  Two steps forward, and all that jazz.

                We are planning some light festivities for Christmas.  A breakfast and early dinner spread for everyone.  Some of the folks went out and cut down a few trees to decorate for the different dorms, and a really big tree for the cafeteria where we are gathering for the actual day.  We got some toys and age appropriate gifts that the youngins should appreciate, so it should be fairly normal.  Well, what passes for normal now. 

Should be fun for the kids.

                No violence to speak of on or off campus.  The Factory is doing okay.  With all this rain they have plenty of water in storage, and despite their relative proximity to the city, there have been precious few undead.  So few undead in fact, that they are actually reporting it as being “creepy.”

                MGR has been the same.  We’re rotating staff regularly now to give people breaks.  The only people living there permanently are Renee and Mallory.  They’ve chosen the tower as the home they want to stay at permanently.  Mike and Patty, previously in charge of MGR have essentially relocated back here since I got shot.  I think they wanted a fresh start away from all of this, and once they were gone realized they actually want to stay here.  A lot more resources here I suppose, as well as real estate.

                We haven’t seen a single undead near campus or on any of the video feeds in days.  We are all thinking about how Sylvia may have been leading undead to us all this time.  It makes sense.  If she was coming and going, and not putting any undead that saw her down, then she was likely just leading them to us the entire time.  I think we were lucky that she didn’t lead more to us prior to when the walls went up.  Although, it does make sense that she was leading them to us all along.  How else were they getting up here?

                Well, I guess the whole “led and powered by evil” argument could be thrown into the mix.

                But that’s depressing as shit.  I don’t want to think about that just hours from Christmas, on the first Christmas eve in some time that seems even remotely normal.  I didn’t get anyone any gifts.  I feel weird about that.  I feel like this year, there are people I should’ve done something for.  I can’t really hit the mall or anything, but I guess I could’ve gone old school and drawn a cute sleigh on some construction paper and made some cards for people.  Ghetto gifts, courtesy of Adrian Ring.

                I’ll wish people some Merry Christmas tomorrow, thank them for all they’ve done for me, and do my level best to show them how much I appreciate them.  Maybe that’s what this is all about after all.  Less about gifts, and more about showing people you care.  I’m like Bob fucking Ross, only for wisdom.  Getting back to basics, with Adrian Ring.  Public access channels, and hopefully, if I go big, I could make it onto the PBS stations too.  Maybe even the BBC.

                I could be famous.

                I want to write more.  Nothing is stirring, except for some mice, and I am not quite tired yet.  I saw a few kids running around in head to toe snowsuits the other day when we had an inch of snow, and it made me think of the last time I ever wore a snowsuit.  It’s a funny and horrible story.

                I think I was in third grade, and the weather had gone south during the winter.  It was the last day before Christmas break, and it had been raining and sleeting all day while we were in class.  My entire family was home sick except for me, so I had to walk home from school on my own, without my brothers and sister.  I don’t think Becca was in school then either, so I think she would’ve been at home already.  When the weather was crappy my mom made we wear an old snowsuit that had been passed down to me.  The feet had been worn out from years of sledding, so my mom cut them off, and I wore classy black moon boots instead.  Those were also hand me downs, and had some pretty sweet duct tape patching.

                Anyway, the elementary school I went to at the time was at the top of a hill, and with the cold temperatures, and sleet, walking down the hill all alone in my head to almost toe snowsuit complete with moon boots was a real motherfucker.  I remember taking inch steps for the entire mile long walk trying to stay upright.

                When I was about two thirds of the way home I suddenly felt my stomach lurch, and I knew instantly I had a case of the ninja shits coming on, and in a hurry.  I was puckering like a fucking Olympian trying to keep back the brown tide while still making forward progress on the sidewalk that was more skating rink than anything.

                Our house was on main street, across the road from the school geographically, and when traffic stopped to let me go I booked it as best I could across the way.  Of course Mr. Journal if you have ever tried to run while squinching up to keep from shitting yourself, you know it’s a stiff legged process.  You’re more or less walking on stilts while keeping every muscle below your nose taut as hell to prevent slippage into your fucking drawers.

                Anyhoo, as I cross the street and start up the walk way to the front door I see that the entire walk way is covered in solid ice.  It was smooth, and glassy, and the snow on both sides in the yard was far too deep to trudge through while I was so close to shitting myself.  Just as I take the first the step onto the surface, my mother opened the front door, and waved to me.

                It was a tease and I knew it.  I was so close to the safety of wooden, ice free floors, and yet the final twenty feet were clearly the most treacherous of them all.  I slid my moon boots inch by inch on the glassy ice all the while yelling to my mom.

                “Open the screen door!  Open the screen door!  Get out of the way mom, I gotta GO!”

                Of course my mom had no damn idea what I was yelling through the storm door, and when I finally made it to that door, she opened it for me, and I started through it, trying to get past her to the blessed bathroom where I could purge the pressure that was still building behind my asshole.

                But by now Mr. Journal… you already know something goes horribly wrong.

                As I stepped over the threshold of the house past my mom, both of my feet slipped on the last few inches of ice.  I remember distinctly the sensation of soaring up into the air, my legs straight out in front of me as my sphincter gave in to the poop.  As I dropped down onto my back I felt the shit squirt powerfully into my snowsuit, past the back of my thighs, down my calves, and all the way down into the torn feet into my moon boots.  Right after that wonderful sensation I slammed my snow hat covered skull into the icy walkway, and the tears came.

                I bawled like a bitch.

                I stood up, completely ignoring my mother’s attempts to pick me up and find out what was wrong.  I pushed her out of the way, still screaming and crying and ran directly into the shower, where I stripped out of the snowsuit, and revealed my shit covered lower half.  My mom saw the wreckage, and pulled the bathroom door shut so I could clean myself off.

                Yeah so I don’t like snowsuits anymore.  Or moon boots for that matter. 

                Funny story now.  Not as funny back then.  Especially when all my brothers and dad made fun of me for shitting myself in a snowsuit. 

                Fuckers.

                -Adrian

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