I believe that my body is slowly morphing into that of an undead zombie. I suppose you don’t believe me, but I assure you, it’s happening. I really not sure if I can substantiate this claim in any way because I have never met an undead zombie before, and I certainly don’t know if they feel the way I feel. I suppose if I ever were confronted with a legion of some decaying undead army the last thing I would do is have a chat with them about how they feel. Undead zombies, I’m told, are rarely great observers of civility.
I suppose this makes sense. They probably don’t get much sleep and I suppose that there are few people who would be willing to sell them coffee. If it weren’t for coffee I would guess that my transformation would be progressing at a much faster rate. During the past two nights I have been working quite late, and as such I haven’t gotten much in the way of sleep. Additionally even with the extra nine hours of work I put in between Monday and Tuesday night I was unable to solve the problem I was working on. There is little hope of a good attitude after sacrificing your evening, your good nights rest, only to know on top of it you had failed to make stuff do the stuff you wanted it do to.
I imagine this has also contributed to my newly realized state as semi morphed undead zombie. Maybe the reason the undead remain is because they feel obligated to stay and torment others who are competent enough to complete the projects they start. I honestly say I could see the joy in making others suffer for my own inadequacies. I imagine though, when it comes down to it, that you would need to really love making others miserable. Because without a good reason for becoming a zombie I think you would be overwhelmed by all the setbacks you would have to suffer. Loss of hair, bad breath, rotting flesh hanging off your bones, no eating, no drinking, and no one willing to go to the movies with you on a Saturday night.
At the moment coffee is the only vice between me and total zombie transformation. I don’t believe even with the satisfaction of pestering the living, I would be willing to give up coffee. I never feel more human as right after I finish a cup. Sadly the effect is short lived, and I soon find my brain adrift and my thoughts scattered aimlessly across my desk. People come in and ask me very simple questions that I should have no trouble answering and all I can think about is why they are standing there smiling! What makes them so happy? I then begin to envy the amount of sleep they probably got last night, and wonder what kind of bed they slept on.
I can’t believe its not even ten O’clock yet and I have to try and make it through an entire day like this. Maybe I just give in, shred my clothes to strips and stagger out of the office. Don’t be alarmed if you hear odd sounds coming from the local graveyard. It’s just me during my final change to undead zombie. I wouldn’t worry to much about it though, because in the end, I think I will enjoy pestering in the living.