I wasn’t surprised when it happened again.
By the fifth skipped day, I had officially reached the "acceptance" stage of whatever weird cosmic joke my life had become. I woke up, blinked at my alarm, checked the date, and—yep—it was Tuesday. Not Monday. Not Sunday. Just... Tuesday.
I sighed.
Honestly, what was the point of reacting anymore? The universe clearly had its own agenda, and I was just along for the ride. My life had turned into some broken flipbook, with every other page missing, but no one else seemed to notice.
That morning, as I brushed my teeth and looked in the mirror, I asked myself out loud, "What even is my life?" The reflection stared back, toothpaste foam threatening to slide off my chin. No answers. Just the hollow-eyed me, tired of the mystery but too exhausted to
