Wake Up Dead

Some mornings I am over-welcomed by an odd sensation. That I've been wiped from existence. By odd, I mean uncomfortable and possibly hostile. It kind of feels like you can't seem to recall your purpose for being alive in the first place. If I could control the weather, days like that should be accompanied by heavy downpours with 100% chance of thunder, lightening, and severe winds. Of course when I look out the window, this is never the case. High 70s, delightfully-sunny, and a cool gentle breeze. All evidence points to the insignificance of my presence in this grand scheme of life, of nature.

Such discord between my mood and that of life's threatens my very being. Life unfolds with or without me. My disappearance would mark a single event, a moment. And then any evidence of my presence, even anecdotal, would eventually be cleaned up by time. Think about it, the only one that this would have a lasting effect on is...me.