061. Diagnosis

[vicodincrutch]

I haven't been home in way to many days. Vicodin supply is decent. Nurses are still in that hazy 5 to 7 on a ten scale. I think that in case of an emergency I'll be stashing some Penthouse magazines in my office. And a temperpedic pillow.

Whether or not this late night movie madness is a curse or someone else's booboo (wouldn't be the first time), it's interesting to see the stages of death in fast forward.

• Pallor Mortis -> Instantaneous upon infection. At least that is what it looks like through a telescope. Dr. Peep. N. Tom, present.
• Algor Mortis -> I wasn't able to get a hands on check for that. Didn't look like the infected had a sense of temperature. Or at least were smart enough to sport coats. How nice of them.
• Rigor Mortis-> Got stiffed by the City.
• Livor Mortis-> Brief, very brief by the looks of it. Then again, a cappilary study from my crowsnest wasn't happening.
• Decomposition -> The last stop on the infection freak train. No CGI here.

Whatever this is or whatever we want to call it, Necroflu, cold death, zombiAIDs, it is too contagious to study under a microscope given the rate it spreads. I guess it is a breed of retrovirus-something that attacks RNA. Which leads me to an exciting point: when the infected or food run out, how long do we wait until all of this is considered 'passed.' We don't know where it came from. Do we know where it is going?

I want to go home just as much as everybody else does. I suggest an extended lock down. But only if window watching gets any better. This would have been a blockbuster. Until someone watched Jurassic Park. The mixed media interrupted the tone and flow of plot. I'll have to take my B rating down to a D for straight to DVD in the two dollar bin at Walmart.