Zombie Fighter

A friend recently turned me on to zombies. He kept extolling the virtues of the genre until I gave in- even though I told him that the movie "The Princess Bride" scarred me for life.

That fucking rat that fights Wesley. Do you blame me?

So, on Halloween, fresh off of my vomit-free flight, I settled in with some zombie movies and a very large glass of wine. To my complete surprise, I wasn't scared. I was enchanted, really. Disgusted, yes- but utterly and totally enchanted. The next day when I called to thank him he asked me a question that sort of turned my world upside down. "Do you think you would survive a zombie apocalypse? I mean, there is a quiz online that can tell you if you would. But, do you think you could?"

I started the quiz about 20 minutes before I was supposed to be in class, and not surprisingly abandoned the whole thing when the questions got too long. On my walk to campus, however, I could not shake the connection that was forming in my head. To me, at least right now, surviving a zombie apocalypse feels a hell of a lot like surviving this year. Do I have the smarts? The skills? The innate desire for survival? Would I be the one pulling it together, making it to the end or would I be the poor fuck that gets bitten and demolished a few scenes in?

Would I let this get the best of me?

Here is something you should know about me. I can shoot a gun while holding a beer, but I also cry over paper cuts. Brett said it most eloquently: "You are the kind of woman that cries over small stuff, but triumphs over the real, scary things in life. You could deliver a baby without a whimper, but you will sob over a simple wound." THIS IS TRUE. I will go on about how cold it is outside, and whine and wail my way through a winter, but the day my car got stuck in a snowy ditch during the worst storm of the year I fashioned a flag out of a sweatshirt and stayed warm and safe (in the car) for 7 HOURS. Soon, a plow truck happened upon the scarlet shirt waving it's call in the stormy air and I was "saved." And dry eyed. Real shits got nothin' on me.

My friend's question made me analyze the kind of woman and wife that I was. Would I fight to the death, or abandon ship when the going got rough? Would I be the kind of person that would wield weapons and protect the ones I love, or would I be sniveling in the corner?

This is what I came to: I am afraid, admittedly, of the small things in life. I jump at shadows, I sleep with a light on, I lay awake in bed at night mentally walking myself through my sins. But, at the same time: I kill spiders with nary a hesitation, I boldly fight for my education and my voice and I don't back down, I have run for my life, I have fought for things I am passionate about, and I never show sweat where sweat should not be seen.

Maybe we should all act like we are on the brink of a zombie apocalypse. Where would you stand? Would you help board doors or would you tear them down in panic?

We definitely have the choice in life. We can sweat the small stuff, but rise to the occasion when the occasion presents itself. And people: the occasion is presenting itself. Right now. Now is the time.

Kiss the person you love. Take the class you always wanted to take. Get into the best shape of your life. Tell that one horrible thing in your life that it is forgiven. Fight. Bear arms. Stand up for what is yours and what is sacred and what is beautiful.

I'd totally be the chick making it to the end of the zombie flick, bud light in hand. I can wield a gun. I can make you love me. I can shoot you dead.

It's all in my control.

It's all in your control.