APOCALYPSE

Who says government is bloated, dysfunctional, useless?

Just two weeks ago - following a rash of bizarre, cannibalistic incidents - the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention publicly declared that there is no evidence of a coming Zombie Apocalypse, stating: "The CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms.)"

Well, that's a relief.

Because it's late. It's dark. I am alone in my office - I mean castle.

The windows are open. The boisterous breeze occasionally feels more sticky-warm than cool.

Like Zombie Breath - filtering through the screens.

'Tis true. I've been a little on edge the past two weeks. Soon after the first "My-Neighbor-is-My- Friend-is-My-Lunch" incident was reported, I discovered a rash on my leg.

Rash spread. Bubbled. Munched. Maddened.

Tortured me with threatening voices that obscured all thought and sanity: "Scratch! Scratch harder! The less skin you have, the less surface I'll have to spread my toxins across!"

Fear not, dear reader. All Rulers hear voices. Great Rulers can differentiate between the naughty and nice voices.

So I accepted the nice voice - and the steroid cream - of the doctor who diagnosed my ailment using code words like "Contact Dermatitis and Other Exema due to Other Specified Agent."

Other Specified Agent code word for ZOMBIE.

You think I'm nuts. But google Zombie-rash Outbreak in Florida - 6/1/2012, and discover that the crusty red oozing bubbles and rash I've been sporting for two weeks have been caused by something other than the overachieving Toxicodendron radicans hiding beneath my peonies.  

Just two weeks ago, I might have been lulled into believing my doctor, my government, or my husband - who has the scars to prove he's been victim of far more poisonous plants than I.

But this rash coincided with a rash of bizarre, zombie-like behavior throughout the United States. And a quick trip back to high school that convinced me that life remains High School; full of highs and lows, accomplishments and failures, best friends who build you up, and toxic people who'll quite happily eviscerate you with a simple word or glance.

Setting: Post-Prom Party at the High School.

Characters: Parents. Soon-to-Graduate Seniors. Woman I am not expecting to see.

Tidbit:  Woman I am not expecting to see has quite effectively participated in the dismantling of marriages, relationships, and families. Could be her own Special Forces Unit. Or Reality TV Show.

Plot: Yours truly is crossing the crowded gym floor. Locks eyes with Woman. Woman sneers, then marches on.

Question: Have you ever been the recipient of a sneer?

Answer: No?  Lucky you.

Because now that I have experienced such an unparalleled pleasure, let me assure you, dear Reader, the word fits the expression - perfectly.

I am stunned. Silenced. For hours - days - I imagine responses that I should have uttered instantly - with great feeling and bravado. Expressions like, "Karma is a bibiddy-bobbidy-blank" or "You sneering at me? I'm sneering at you!"

Instead, I continued on my way, thinking, "I feel like I'm in high school."

Plot Device: Irony.

I've been toxicized by plant - and person - in one short week.

What's next?

A moth is hurling itself at my window screen - tapping dits, dots and dashes.

Morse code.  For Zombie Apocalypse.

Unlike my recent jaunt through the high school gym, I shall be prepared for this next drama.

Because an Assistant Surgeon General at the CDC has recently penned and published, "Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse."

I need an emergency kit. Water, food, and other supplies to get me through the first couple of days before I can locate a zombie-free refugee camp. I need medications (steroid cream,) duct tape, a battery-powered radio, clothes, copies of important documents and first aid supplies. I need an emergency plan that includes where I'll go and who I'll call if zombies start appearing outside my doorstep.

Beyond my window screen.

In the high school gym.

Best to pack along a sneer, and a few good retorts. 

Ready for the enemy, baby!

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Snarky Sporadically Soothes.