Wake with a muscle twisted out of formation, a reminder of mortality despite the nascent life of May outside your window. Try to make sense of the strange goings on of the last few days, scenes of disaster unfolding around you but what sense is there to make. You decide to focus on none of it, to let your mind wander instead, you are but a crumb in the universe and if the gods wanted something special for your life surely they would have let you know by now.
This reminds you to check your mailbox.
It's May now, all of life lies ahead of you. Maybe that is the special thing, you wouldn't be mad if it was. Maybe keeping you around is how the gods let you know.
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