The phone is dead. Is there something they’re not telling me? The view outside my window looks normal, cars are bustling about the parking lot… but maybe the rest of Duluth (and my telephone lines) have been vaporized into tiny radioactive particles and is currently raining down on Superior. How’d you like to be the meteorologist for that one?
“Superior residents should exercise caution, as a recent nuclear attack has rendered the inferior town of Duluth a nasty carcinogenic rain. The ShopKo is currently out of umbrellas, but newspapers are still available at local gas stations.”
Oh wait, the phone wasn’t plugged in. Scratch all that.
Last night offered more strange dreams, filled with zombies and shotguns. It was like the game Resident Evil, which is strange because I’ve never played Resident Evil, nor have I recently been thinking about Resident Evil. Perhaps my zombie dream was developed independently from Resident Evil, but if that’s the case, why was I dreaming about zombies at all? Maybe it was from a philosophy lecture early in year, where Hobbes was theorizing on zombies; people that have all the normal neuron activity in the brain but no conscious state. If Hobbes’ zombie is possible it would suggest that consciousness is not entirely grounded in the physical realm.
However, Hobbes’ zombies didn’t limp around with their arms stuck out, moaning and eating brains and such. Mine did. They also bled a lot when shot at point blank range with a sawed-off.
I’m going to the cabin for the weekend to crank on reading and crank, and to do some sundry laundry. Maybe my parents will buy me beer.
…or a shotgun.