14-hour flights have a way of completely destroying my sense of well-being. I've always had trouble sleeping on airplanes and I can usually get away with it, but 14 hours is a long time to sit in a state of half-delirium and neck-ache. So I've been shuffling around the O.R. Tambo (no, autocorrect, not "Rambo", though that would be cool) like a zombie in the world of the living. Signs and speech are difficult to understand and I'm completely perplexed by escalators. If I ever need to zombie-proof my home, I'm going with escalators. So far I've managed to pass myself off among the living, but the other walking dead clearly recognize one of their own. You can find us standing in front of departure boards and staring at the information for far longer than necessary and occasionally looking around, as if about to enlist the help of the other slack-jawed zombie travelers. Occasionally you will see their mouths open as if to form speech, maybe a hesitant finger going up, to attract attention, but that's as far as it goes... because zombies can't communicate.
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