37 days post-apocalypse
Today we had to organize a search party for 12-year-old Sophia, who got chased into the woods by two zombies. I knew it would happen eventually. Remember how pre-apocalypse, everyone was talking “helicopter moms”? That’s not true here; you’ll never find two more relaxed moms than Lori and Carol. I mean, think about it: if you came to a massive traffic jam filled with the bodies of dead and somewhat-dead people, would you be all, “Go explore, honey — just stay where I can see you?” Please.
38 days post-apocalypse
Lori and I were in the same party searching for Sophia, and she stopped to tell us all off for disrespecting Rick, her husband. I was all like, “Hello? We weren’t the ones in the bushes doing the nasty with Shane,” but I didn’t say it. Lori: she thinks she’s all that. Then, after telling us off, she pulled an icy bottle of water from her backpack and poured a frosty swig down her throat. I was all like, “Icy? When we haven’t seen electricity in five weeks?” Maybe Lori really is all that.
41 days post-apocalypse
I was up at dawn today and found Rick talking endlessly into his walkie-talkie. Rick says he promised to make contact each morning with “Morgan,” some guy he owes his life to. I’m all, “Get in line, Morgan. Everyone has saved Rick’s life at some point,” but I didn’t say it. I did point out that maybe he could just give his coordinates instead of going all philosophical over the airwaves and wasting batteries. He was all like, “... ”, and I was all like, “Whatever. But maybe if you talked to your wife as much as you talk to this Morgan guy, she wouldn’t have…” but then I realized he doesn’t know about Lori and Shane and the bushes. He looked annoyed and stalked off with the walkie-talkie. I’m sure he told Morgan everything.
42 days post-apocalypse
Today T-Dog thought to siphon gas. I’d been wondering why no one was doing this. No matter where we go, we find abandoned cars full of gas, and think about it: while there might still be humans on the oil rigs pumping gas, the distribution networks are overrun by zombies, so take what gas you can get. But since Rick never mentioned it, and since he went so far as to ride into Atlanta on a horse rather than siphon gas, I figured it was a bad idea. Thank God for T-Dog and common sense.
45 days post-apocalypse
Dale is all like, “Meaning-of-life, big picture, optimism, whatever,” and I’m all like, “Dude, if you know so much, how come you’re wearing that hat?”
49 days post-apocalypse
I finally told Rick that I think there might be other humans out there. He asked me why, and I was like, “Have you not noticed that whenever we come to an abandoned home or an abandoned park or an abandoned church, the grass is cut?” He just looked at me like I was crazy.
10 days into watching the series
I was talking to a co-worker today about how obsessed I am with The Walking Dead, and she’s like, “I went to college with Jon Bernthal,” and I’m all, “No you didn’t,” and she told me her college boyfriend left her when he realized he was all crushed-out on Jon Bernthal, and I’m all like, “Jon Bernthal can turn men gay?” and she’s all, “Nah, my boyfriend started gay. The crush just helped him realize it.” Then she Google-imaged Jon Bernthal and up came a picture of Shane-the-sheriff and a picture of Shane-the-zombie, and I’m like, “Thanks for that: I’m only at the start of season two.”
Allison Freeman is a researcher and writer at a major university. She lives in Durham, North Carolina, with her husband and two young children, neither of whom will be doing much exploring post-apocalypse.