Zombie: rebel without a pulse

I should own up to the fact that under certain metereological conditions I change into something else. Gone is the fun loving father of two and its stead substantiates a zombie like creature sentenced to roam the family domicile in a fugue state packaged in pain and handicap.
Why this should be the case is most interesting as I seem to be at the mercy of changes in the weather. What specific changes I’m not so clear about. It’s not as though the isobar touches a certain measure and then I’m set off. The physiology of this is not a straighforward cause and effect.
You can imagine how this upsets my social calendar. For you it’s OK to say "see you Saturday" -- but for me, who knows?
Even if I check with the good people at the Department of Metereology, what do they know? It’s like asking them to play at soothsayers.
So I ‘wing it.’ This makes me very improvisational. If I can walk out my front gate maybe I can make it all the way and be in attendance when our rendezvous is due.
But this impeaching of my self has impacted a lot on my thinking. Lets’ skip, for the moment, the mental fog that so often descends on my over worked cognition, and instead consider the philosophical attributes. If you(or rather, I) have so much trouble logging in to a pre-ordered routine (as you don’t know what way interfere) you adopt a very laissez faire approach to living. You retire on an evening and don’t know what you’ll be like when you awake the following day. Such variety is its own excitement. You inhabit a body that is so often full of surprises.
Because I seem to have my ups and downs in patches I feel a smug satisfaction every time weather changes are heralded by my own pitiless discomfort. I am Bob Dylan’s weatherman. Indeed, so consolidated is my state that I also refer to myself as Mister El Nino as I am convinced that the massive oscillatioin in the southern Pacific has a lot to do with my lifestyle. A long drought with steady state Highs suits me to a T. I apologise to the farmers but give me El Nino rather than El Nina any phenomena.
So what has all this got to do with zombies? Frankly I don’t know, but as a metaphor I’m impressed. The genesis of zombie-ism may have been a fish poison which fostered such a state of undead -- but the notion that you are with us still but not -- is an appealing parallel to my variable state of consciousness. And zombies are so trendy! So laying claim to a piece of the zombie action gives me a buzz.
That doesn’t mean that I will eat you. In fact, I’m not up with zombie folklore and culinary habits. But let us assume that I’m a self contained zombie and can subsist within my own ecology. However, you need to be aware that brains may be the natural food of zombies.
So what has this all to do with the price of fish? I guess it is just a warning that here-after zombie-ism may figure occasionally on this blog. You need to realise what that may mean. You need to be aware what may be at stake. You need to take precautions.

PS: I suffer from Fibromyalgia.

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