I’m upset with The Walking Dead writers at the moment. We haven’t seen enough of the emotionally unavailable badass with a crossbow since the Winter break.
I call bullshit on this.
I already know from my comic book geek people that the series deviates from the graphic novels, so there is no excuse for not having a little more face time with Daryl.
Then I thought, you know…menopausal women are a lot like Daryl Dixon.
My subconscious is such a dick.
I have some recurring dreams. Some are anxiety dreams and some are comforting and some are really fucking weird. Like the pink and black bathroom that shows up all the time. It has a big round black tub and I always forget that I have that tub available to me. There’s always dust in the it. Or the apartment that Randy and I are always just about to rent. It’s huge and rambling with dirty blue carpet and lofts and has three stories and a labyrinth of rooms. It’s shabby and usually other people have left stuff in it. Like books and clothes and toys.