*Photo courtesy of John Baird at www.laughingsquid.com
I have a friend who is deathly afraid of zombies. Not just the ones in films, but the idea that zombies may one day take over the world. His fears were not allayed by a recent report on the BBC (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/8206280.stm) about a group of scientists who were using a theoretical zombie plague to model the spread of, and how to control, lethal, rapidly spreading infection through human populations. Academics in Ottawa illustrated the outcome of a battle between humans and the “undead”. There conclusion was – don’t capture or cure them, whack them over the head.
Apart from the questions this raises about the future of the good old National Health Service, it made me think about my own escalating fear. My friend actually has a zombie attack plan, so that he can survive the inevitable onslaught. I, as of yet, have no plan, but am willing to take suggestions …
I have a terrible habit of anthropomorphising. I love the word, can’t actually use it in conversation as I always get caught up half way through and it turns into anthropology instead. But I can write it. And it’s a great word for *ahem* “giving a non-human thing a human form, human characteristics, or human behaviour”. Which is something I do often. At the moment I’m giving particular anthropomorphic characteristics to a) my cat; and b) my wardrobe. Both of which are starting to give me cause for serious concern.
a) is homicidal and out to get me. Not to mention I suspect she’s hiding all my jeweller’s tools and eating my findings. If it’s not the cat, it’s my boyfriend, and he’s keeping schtum. My cat is an accomplished thief. Seriously. Her favourites are wristwatches which she will hide in various hot spots around the flat. And £20 notes. What she spends her ill-gotten gains on is a mystery to me, although I wish she’d send some of it my way for her rent and catalogue repayments. I was going to upload pics of what I made in Robert Dancik’s Faux Bone workshop tonight but I suspect she’s stolen the connector cable. And the camera.
b) is altogether a different beast. And definitely more sinister. Whereas my cat is a kleptomaniac, my wardrobe appears to be a breeding machine. Ominous and hulking it looms in the corner of my bedroom, chuckling away as it causes my clothes, shoes and rogue underwear to breed and multiply in its depths, waiting to collapse on the unwary fool who opens the door. And I know it’s not me – I’ve already deposited FIVE bags in the charity shop in an attempt to clear the house in preparation for moving. FIVE! But as soon as I go back to the wardrobe it looks even worse than before.
Am I the only person on earth this happens to? Do nonhuman things conspire to thwart you? If so, tell me all about it and we can form the Anthropomorphising Survivors Group!