What were the living dead, Wolgast thought, but a metaphor for the misbegotten march of middle age?
The fact that so many people have highlighted this sentence tell me I must be onto something—both about zombies and about being of a certain age. Here’s the thing about zombies: they’re always dressed for work. You have your accountant zombie, your diner waitress zombie, your UPS delivery-person zombie, your tweedy college-professor zombie (that zombie would be me), and so on. I think that the hold that zombie stories have on us—and these are nothing if not zombie-rich times—comes from our ambivalence to the ways that life, and our jobs especially, turns us from people into roles, into uniforms filled by bodies, marching through the day.
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Having Fibromyalgia & CFS, we truly are the walking dead.