Fear the Walking Dead, Season 1, Episode 3: “The Dog”

The recap is up!

Rachel Tsoumbakos

FTWD Ep 3 The Ride Home

Your zombie apocalypse up close and personal.

Out in the mean, soon to be dead streets of L.A., hell is all around. Everyone in Daniel’s Haircut Emporium is safe for the moment, but this is L.A.—or its stand in *coughVancouvercough*—and it won’t be long before things go straight to hell. Eventually some dudes break into the joint next door and set it aflame, which means Daniel’s place is gonna burn, which means get out in the street—

It’s not at all pretty. Cars on fire, people beating people, cops getting ready to drop the hammer—and, oh yeah: there’s a cop chewing on a SWAT guy’s neck. Someone get that officer’s PBA rep . . .

Travis and Company make a run for it, and eventually find Travis’ truck, which isn’t burning, upside down, or has even been broken into, which means they’ll make their way out of the downtown unscathed, right?…

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The Pain of the Present

This morning is one of those moments when I woke up, flipped on the computer, brought up the “Add Post” tab, and stared at the screen thinking, “What the hell am I gonna write about?”  See, the last couple of days I’ve been cooking off all my writing in the mornings, and this weekend has been particularly productive, what with writing about twenty-five hundred words to get a scene out of the way.  And that productivity has led to something else:

Pain.

More specifically, major muscle pain in my shoulders.  As in “My shoulders want to leave my body and head somewhere nice to relax” kind of pain.  It’s intense and in no way nice.  And when you’re wearing a bra and the straps are holding position right where the pain is–ugh.  That’s even worse.

Then add to that the position you hold your arms when you type, and you see where this is leading.

I have a different kind of Writer's Cramp.

I have a different kind of Writer’s Cramp, is what I’m saying.

It’s been like this for a couple of weeks now, and the only way I’ve found to combat this is to get the bra off, slather on some Icy Hot, slip into the pajamas, and relax for about thirty minutes before getting back into the swing of things.  Even so, there’s a lot of pain, especially in my left shoulder.  I’m trying different things to help this situation.

One, unless I have to go out after work, I get out of the bra right away.  Seriously, bras suck.  They do.  You don’t know how much bras suck until you have to wear one.  Take this from someone who didn’t need to wear a bra for, oh, maybe forty-five years before, BOOM!  Here’s your bra, Honey, welcome to the club.

Two, the Icy Hot and relaxing, maybe even a hot shower on the shoulders, too.  Anything to get the muscles to relax.  Which means probably a nap when I get home.

Three, taking my time with the writing.  This has aggravated the condition a lot.  Like it or not, I believe I need to buy a good chair, too.  I’ve been sitting on a shitty little chair for more than a year–actually more like two years–and it’s not good for me because it forces me to sit in ways that aren’t good.  And I need to be able to kick back and relax once in a while during a writing session, and with the chair I now have that’s impossible.  So chair buying is on the horizon, I’m positive.

The pain I’m feeling has a lot to do with not feeling like writing when I get home.  It’s tough to get the ideas flowing when your shoulders are on fire, and this weekend proved that point as I tried to find every excuse possible not to write last night.  Unfortunately I had note to take for the recap I need to write tonight, and so . . . pain last night, and probably more pain tonight.

I only hope it’s not enough to keep me from getting into the last scene of Chapter Fifteen, ’cause . . . reasons.