In a safehouse with my cat. Traded shelter for seeds. I can’t believe no one else thought of hitting a grocery store’s gardening section. No cans left, but tons and tons of seeds, dirt, and pots. Will stay long enough to see the seedlings sprout, and show the cohabitors the basics of rooftop, container, and hydroponic gardening. Maybe knitting, too. Crocheting? I don’t know. Maybe we should hunker down here. Ms. Sprinkles, at least, is a surprisingly proficient mouser. They like her, and are okay that I obviously don’t want her going outside. But it’s boring. I’ve read everything I have at least once, now, and under Our Fearless Leader’s off-key singing, I can still hear the gnashing of the teeth of the dead, and the low growl of those animals we once all loved.
Survivor check in: other Hathorians, are you okay? I haven’t heard from Revena or Gena — have any of you?
Avoid the highways, cities, hospitals, and malls. They seem empty, but they’re everywhere. The dead are everywhere — sometimes it’s like they’re hibernating, until they scent you. It’s like they’re fleas, and can smell your carbon dioxide and feel your warmth. The pets… well. They know where we congregate and how we think. I’m lucky that my sweet Ms. Sprinkles has never gotten on with other cats and has thrown her lot in with me.
Dispatches from readers:
Patrick reports that Massachusetts has fallen.
Aerin reminds us that in even in times of great disaster, segregation must be challenged.
Shaun points out an alternative kind of heroine, and that giants have touched down across the globe. More on that here.
Charles RB warns against mind control viruses coming down from the North. Winter is coming, readers. Beware the White Walkers.
Everything seems really trivial now. Why wouldn’t they let the Iranian team play? Why couldn’t FIFA be as reasonable as the IWF?
I’m haunted by the images in World War III Illustrated: they seem to have come true.
Goddammit. Here’s more dispatches I’ve gotten from other survivors.
What survivors there are still need our support. Their stories must be celebrated, and they are on the lookout for resources.
In this age of horrors ranging from zombies to beasts of the night — we need to stop judging others’ joy. EMBRACE FRIENDSHIP AS MAGIC.
Imaginary beings can still hurt you, but may offer unseen benefits.
We are up such a shitty creek if Megan Fox is too feminist.
Even during the apocalypse it matters if you are a man or a woman.
IN CONCLUSION: What potential does imaginative play offer us now?
Remember, fellow survivors: there are monsters out there.
ETA: Welcome to Blog Like It’s the Apocalypse 2011! 
{ 39 comments… read them below or add one }
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Shaun,
Also, the needlework is pronounced cro-shay, the sport is pronounced cro-kay, and the food is pronounced cro-ket.
Sylvia Sybil(Quote) (Reply)
And I had a coxinha, or Brazilian croquette, for lunch.
Jennifer Kesler(Quote) (Reply)
Jennifer Kesler,
OK now you’re just messing with me.
Shaun(Quote) (Reply)
Croquettes can also be potato rather than chicken.
SunlessNick(Quote) (Reply)
SunlessNick,
Yeah, I only knew of potato croquettes before this.
Casey(Quote) (Reply)
@Everyone
Nom nom nom?
http://recipes.lovetoknow.com/wiki/Category:Croquette_Recipes
Maria(Quote) (Reply)
Maria,
…I love this thread so much.
Revena(Quote) (Reply)
Shaun,
Nope, I swear. And my Brazilian croquette had both chicken and potatoes in it, following on what SunlessNick said.
Maria, mmmm, salmon croquettes.
Jennifer Kesler(Quote) (Reply)
Jennifer Kesler,
OK but now I think we should form a Crochet Croquet Croquette Sisterhood based on our unifying shared experiences discussing croquette on a feminist media site.
Shaun(Quote) (Reply)
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