January 13

Number of cigarettes: 19, v. bad

Number of aspirin: 4

Number of vodka tonics: 4 as well, as seeking balance in life and do not wish to tip scales

Am currently in plaster cast thanks to the tender ministrations of one Zell Dincht, who erroneously thought I would enjoy a day of frolicking and merriment in the bullet-and-disease ridden training grounds of a hyper-masculine zombie-apocalypse survivalist group based in Timber.

Am grateful that punji sticks were not included in pit trap that held me for six hours, as right ankle would not be only thing injured by well-meaning but ultimately ham-handed rescue attempt by clumsy martial artist with a bit of rope. Shall remind Zell that screams of pain are most definitely not words of encouragement, no matter how his troop leader insists that pain is a sign of the living.

Pain in ankle is great, however it is nothing to the shame felt by the knowledge that my words were ignored.

Spent most of Wednesday morning grading papers and sipping coffee while my students spent time in training center. Zell entered my classroom to throw a handful of glossy brochures on my desk. The poor lad's smile was quite nearly enough to split his skull as he explained his plans for the following day's entertainment.

"We're doing what?"

"Survival camp! You'll love it! There's an obstacle course and a zip-line and..."

"And a seminar on evading the living dead?"

"Er...well, yeah! I mean, the zombie apocalypse is just around the corner."

"The what?"

At this point, became convinced that Zell had been gorging on hallucinogenic mold from bad bread.

"The end of the world! They're going to eat our brains and turn us all into their mindless slaves!"

"Well, that stands to reason. If they eat our brains, we all will be mindless. It is indeed a sad fate, though I believe you'll be safe."

Was grasped on either side of my head by two ketchup-stained hands and pulled across my desk. Am fairly sure he did not understand the joke.

"You're in terrible danger! They'll be after you most of all!"

As the only danger came from drowning in the amount of spittle being misted upon my cheeks, I could only stare in something like disgusted wonder.

"Why the hell am I in such danger?"

"They'll smell your brains from a mile away!"

Had never considered level of intelligence as a true physical reality, but upon looking into those terrified eyes, I realized that to some people, being brainy was a liability.

"Bloody hell."

"That too!"

In spite of repeated requests to be left alone to spend the night alone in my apartment with a bottle of vodka and a book, the next day I found myself on a bus reeking of mentholated muscle cream and sweat. Filled as it was with paranoid men that seemed to consider me some form of alien life instead of a normal female, I sat as closely as possible to Zell so that they might think of me as a symbiotic growth on his hip instead of a threat.

Am certain that I could have aptly defended myself against any physical threats, as the most fit member of these soldiers of fortune had a beer gut the size of Rinoa's ego, but as I did not desire any tobacco juice spat in my direction, I elected to stick close to Zell.

Upon our arrival, we were shuffled to a tent and inspected for signs of life, all the while being reminded that the enemy was everywhere. Zell mumbled something to me about his research on zombie life, but I quickly corrected him. Turns out this was mistake, as all eyes in tent turned to me and I was subjected to a deafening spiel from a red-faced man in a second-hand camouflage jacket.

I had been unaware that the zombies, in all their mindless, unintelligent wisdom, have been plotting the demise and consumption of the living for centuries, but until recently had not made their move. When I asked this man why we should be frightened by a bunch of lumbering corpses with an appetite for cranial matter, as it seemed to me that once we were all members of this new race, we would summarily become extinct, as all food-sources for the new undead republic would be eliminated in their initial bid for power, there was a collective gasp from all present.

Had never heard a collective gasp before, but was not impressed, as I previously thought I would be. Collective gasps from lungs obstructed by tobacco smoke do not sound as they do in movies, when crowds are often much prettier and far healthier than the cirrhotic, overweight men surrounding us.

As Zell feared being beaten to death as a traitor before we even tried the zip-line, we decided to run to the obstacle course and begin our training as defenders of life and all that is living.

Did not expect to fall ten feet below ground into hidden sand-pit while Zell jogged ahead in boyish, giggling pursuit of the zip-line, nor did I expect to spend six hours holding my bladder while sixty men skirted the pit and ignored my pleas for rescue. Am convinced that they thought me a covert agent working for the zombies and were happy to leave me in pit to die a second death.

Was surprised to hear gunfire as the army of men armed themselves with live ammunition and fired into what I hope really were non-living targets. Did not hear any moans of the undead, though I did try hard to listen.

"Psst!"

"Eh?"

After what must have been an exhilarating day on the zip-line, Zell must have realized that he had left me behind and came in search of his big-brained zombie-bait.

"We gotta get outta here! Those guys are crazy!"

"Oh? You're just now figuring this out?"

"They think I'm a zombie!"

"For the love of all things holy..."

"All I said was 'I'm starvin', man. Can we head to the lunch tent?', then they went bonkers."

"You said "hungry" and "head" to those idiots?"

"I didn't think they were that serious!"

Shall one day murder Zell, but not any day soon, as ankle is still in fair amount of pain and am not feeling up to homicide.

Shall instead drink another vodka tonic and watch zombie movie with Killer Bee.