Day Old Warm Coffee, A Bag of Frosted Wheat Squares and Blood

The alarm is calling out.
Not that I can understand what it is saying.
But it wakes me up, it's job is done.
What a jerk.
Climbing out of bed I shake myself awake.
It's dark outside.
Gray clouds are massing in the sky.
I grab my day old cup of coffee.
In the microwave it goes.
I fill a bag with cereal.
I get my coffee, go out to my car.
The drive is fine, typical, uneventful.
The usual grumble.
The standard complaint.
A cup of coffee spilled.
The bland taste of the cereal.
Chaos across the country.
Blood. Injury.  Death.
So why am I complaining?
I'm alive.  I've got all my blood in my body.
All I can do is ask.
Why them?
Why not me?