It must be wondered what my twin (Darth Avenir? Long John Rabbit? Mirror Bun? – the potential nomenclature is boundless) has planned. Or perhaps he, too, is adrift in a sea of purposelessness and simply reacts as event follows event, with no more aim or course than I myself. That would be most fitting; for all his dissimilarity in facial fungus and depth perception, he is still my twin.

Yet, I am forced to admit that no matter what his actual plans might be regarding myself and the others, it will come as a considerable amount of comfort should it eventuate that he does indeed know what he is doing and pursues a definitive end.

Someone ought to.

There is a childlike relief, an immature absolution of responsibility found in plans made by anyone with an authoritative manner. They may not be the plans you would yourself wish, but a plan, any plan, is vastly better than formless chaos. Who among us could really face with equanimity the endless possibilities that come with no boundaries whatsoever?

Not this Leporidae, that’s for certain. And so I remain, comfortably enwombed, and await what comes next.