A 9am meeting on a Wednesday after a 4 1/2 day weekend is bad enough. My brain had to go and make it even worse by limiting me to maybe 3 solid hours of sleep, 2 of which were plagued by a zombie fighting nightmare.
Zombies aren't usually a nightmare of mine. And I'm not into the flicks as much as Sonny is.
Yet, here I was. Interesting that in MY zombie world, the zombies were the epitome of upper-crust, fashionista snobs until they entered the slobbering feeding frenzies. No graveyard dirt or tattered clothes here, but ball gowns, white gloves, Bunny, Tad, and talk of the golf course. Where did THAT come from?
I awoke after I decided that the ultimate Mr T zombie had gone too far in lauding his control over the planet and God decided to blow up all zombies, lairs, and paraphernalia.
Still didn't keep me from checking for my heartbeat after I woke. Or from reliving the zombie fight every time I tried to close my eyes for the next 2 hours until the alarm.