Last night I dreamed we were under zombie attack during a thunderstorm. B, my mom, my brother, and I were trying to fortify a large house with laminated National Geographic maps and duct tape because zombies/wind/thunder had destroyed all the windows. We'd brutally murdered all the nearby zombies and were arranging sleeping pallets in one of the oddly huge bathrooms when we heard a crash. Downstairs, dozens of people flooded in from what appeared to be some kind of spacecraft, though it may've just been a semi truck. After checking to make sure they weren't dead, we let them upstairs, telling them they ought to grab some maps and duct tape and fix the windows. I went to the pantry to see what my mom was doing and she loaded me down with blankets for the sleeping room. She had this eerie, ready-to-die attitude about her, and I suspect, if the dream had an adequate finish, she would've martyred herself in some way, to save the younger, more virile generation from zombification.

Yesterday I was roped into a family dinner with B. An extended family dinner. I can't remember anyone's names. He kept making a point of telling people I was shy, which I am, but it bothered me to have that be the first thing someone discovers about me.

I know I ought to be thankful to him, though, because if he hadn't made a point of saying I was shy, everyone might've thought me rude for being so quiet.

Over dinner, B's mom said she and his dad were going to get a king sized bed once they finish work on their house. Why? So they will have room to fit grandchildren in it. B paused and looked over at me, wide-eyed. I stayed fixated on my food.

They've got a few years before they'll need to buy any big beds.

I thought I had more to say than that today. Oh well. Guess not.