These were strange times for Thor, unlike the other times, which were not strange. These were times where Thor's very warped sense of reality was being challenged by stability, and she didn't like it one bit.
She wore pants instead of not pants. She whispered rather than screamed to herself as she walked down the street. She met a kind man and did not immediately fantasize about plunging her fist into his chest and pulling out whatever vital organ she could grab.
It seemed so odd, this new normal.
It was a Tuesday and she had yet to bite her toenails. Someone held open the door and she said thank you. The phone rang and she did not answer it with a belch. She did not eat her own dandruff. She did not sniff the other occupants of the elevator. She smiled and ate dinner with a fork and chatted about the lousy weather.
Oh, to be not normal again. How Thor craved it. How lost she was.
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