I'm trying not to post too often. We've still got quite a bit of fuel for the generator, but I can already see us running out-- and I don't know what we'd do if we did. Besides, I spent nearly a whole day on this computer trying to crack open those files. I figure I may as well play it safe, especially since I'm not getting any responses here anyway.
I wish I knew how to try and find people myself. Most of the search engines I knew are down; there's no way to Google "people on the internet after the apocalypse."
I have to admit, when I started this journal, I had a wild fantasy that someone would respond right away, and we would be rescued, and maybe there was a cure and we could find my family and rescue them or save whoever was left.
Now it just seems obvious that at least in this part of the world everything is going to stay the same. I'm not as okay with that as I'd like, but I'm starting to live with it.
John thinks it might be safe to go outside again. It's been over two weeks since the eaters were here. If they didn't have a hunter with them, they are long gone and hopefully won't be back. He's itching to do something outdoors; maybe explore some of the other buildings in this complex. If we take all our guns, I might feel safe enough to do it.
If anyone is reading, I might not be on for a few days. But please, if you're seeing this, let us know you're out there.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Day Twenty-Four
I found an old bird's nest today in one of the labs. It's a room we haven't spent much time in, mostly because a lot of the equipment is still there, and it makes me nervous to be around. Who knows what experiments they left partway completed, or what chemicals are in the flasks and beakers?
But with sheer boredom apparently comes courage. I spent a few hours in there this afternoon, looking for clues to the passwords on this computer. I found a sticky note stuck to a desk where there clearly used to be another computer. It had "AJ6X473B17" written on it. Just in case, I tried it. No dice.
Anyway, while I was poking around in there, I discovered a tiny nest, up in one of the light fixtures. The plastic covering had broken, and some enterprising bird decided to build what looked like a half-hearted nest on the ledge it created. It was barely more than a pile of twigs, and no larger than the palm of my hand, but inside was an empty eggshell, broken in half.
It's so fragile, and small. The egg is the size of a marble. I thought for sure the nest would fall apart when I shifted it to look inside, but it held, even when I picked it up and brought it down. It's sitting next to my hand as I type this. I can't help but stare at it. These birds, they found their way into this lab, and managed to get in and out enough times to gather the twigs they needed to build a nest. Then they raised a chick here, and sent it off into the dangerous world, and left the safety of the indoors.
I can't explain why this means so much to me. Maybe it's just because it's been so long since I've seen evidence of anything beautiful. Or maybe it's simpler than that; maybe it's a glimmer of hope. If two tiny birds can survive and have a family in this harsh, horrible world, maybe we can. Maybe survival isn't about learning to accept the way the world is. Maybe it's about learning to live again.
But with sheer boredom apparently comes courage. I spent a few hours in there this afternoon, looking for clues to the passwords on this computer. I found a sticky note stuck to a desk where there clearly used to be another computer. It had "AJ6X473B17" written on it. Just in case, I tried it. No dice.
Anyway, while I was poking around in there, I discovered a tiny nest, up in one of the light fixtures. The plastic covering had broken, and some enterprising bird decided to build what looked like a half-hearted nest on the ledge it created. It was barely more than a pile of twigs, and no larger than the palm of my hand, but inside was an empty eggshell, broken in half.
It's so fragile, and small. The egg is the size of a marble. I thought for sure the nest would fall apart when I shifted it to look inside, but it held, even when I picked it up and brought it down. It's sitting next to my hand as I type this. I can't help but stare at it. These birds, they found their way into this lab, and managed to get in and out enough times to gather the twigs they needed to build a nest. Then they raised a chick here, and sent it off into the dangerous world, and left the safety of the indoors.
I can't explain why this means so much to me. Maybe it's just because it's been so long since I've seen evidence of anything beautiful. Or maybe it's simpler than that; maybe it's a glimmer of hope. If two tiny birds can survive and have a family in this harsh, horrible world, maybe we can. Maybe survival isn't about learning to accept the way the world is. Maybe it's about learning to live again.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Day Twenty-Two
Sorry I haven't posted in a few days. We're fine, but I just-- I just can't help but feel that we really are all alone, and that all this journaling is pointless.
I'm starting to come to terms with never seeing my family again. I don't think I can deal with the fact that there's no one out there to help us just yet.
Really, we've been so lucky. I'm trying to remember that. The fact that I got to hold onto my family at all when so many other people lost theirs-- or their own lives-- is a miracle. The fact that I still have my husband, who has medical knowledge, and that we found this old lab and could make it defensible, is beyond miraculous.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep wallowing in what used to be, but I just can't stop. I don't know if I'll ever accept the way things are now. I'll always be trying to get back the life I had, the life I can never go back to. Mostly, I think, because this reality is so harsh and violent and full of loss that I can't help but hope it's just a horrible nightmare and I'll finally manage to pinch myself hard enough to wake up from it.
I used to be so goal driven. I think that's part of what's holding me back from acceptance-- there's no goal to strive toward anymore except to live another day. I need a project, something to look forward to, something to work on.
Maybe I'll try my hand at breaking the passwords on a couple of files on this computer. It might not be much to work for, but I definitely have the time.
It certainly beats Go Fish.
I'm starting to come to terms with never seeing my family again. I don't think I can deal with the fact that there's no one out there to help us just yet.
Really, we've been so lucky. I'm trying to remember that. The fact that I got to hold onto my family at all when so many other people lost theirs-- or their own lives-- is a miracle. The fact that I still have my husband, who has medical knowledge, and that we found this old lab and could make it defensible, is beyond miraculous.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep wallowing in what used to be, but I just can't stop. I don't know if I'll ever accept the way things are now. I'll always be trying to get back the life I had, the life I can never go back to. Mostly, I think, because this reality is so harsh and violent and full of loss that I can't help but hope it's just a horrible nightmare and I'll finally manage to pinch myself hard enough to wake up from it.
I used to be so goal driven. I think that's part of what's holding me back from acceptance-- there's no goal to strive toward anymore except to live another day. I need a project, something to look forward to, something to work on.
Maybe I'll try my hand at breaking the passwords on a couple of files on this computer. It might not be much to work for, but I definitely have the time.
It certainly beats Go Fish.
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