Well, the computer failed to turn on this morning. After a call to ITS and ten more tries, I finally got it on at least long enough to print out a) the document I needed for the meeting with my department chair and b) a notice for my lost gnome (sob).
So I ought to be blogging on zombies, but I don't much feel like it at the moment. I'm up at the top of the English Department where the English adjuncts normally roost, and a dark, sombre and poorly lit loft it is. As if being an adjunct didn't already suck. There aren't even any speakers so I cannot listen to the lovely blues CD by Joan Armatrading that my thoughtful brother bought me at her concert (and had signed!).
Instead, I'm thinking of Yeats and wonder to myself, WWYD? I think he would do thusly:
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
Sounds like a plan.