I guess this is stupid but I feel like I'm living in a simulation of my own making. We as humans have this weird biological drive to project an image that contradicts our actual survival tactics. By day, I’m the person on the community board pushing for the 'Shop Small' initiative—I literally write the newsletters about how local artisans are the lifeblood of our social ecosystem. I talk about the "multiplier effect" of spending money where you live. But it’s 2:14 AM and I’m staring at a screen, clicking 'Buy Now' on a pack of bulk-grade paper towels and cheap diapers from a company that probably wants to replace us all with drones. My life has become this weird exercise in cognitive dissonance. Ever since I transitioned into being a stay-at-home parent, my brain feels like it’s been replaced with a permanent low-battery notification. My son is finally asleep, but the house is just... quiet in a way that feels heavy. I spent the morning telling Mrs. Gable at the local hardware store that we have to protect our heritage, but by 6 PM, I’m so functionally depleted that the thought of driving five minutes to the co-op feels like a marathon. I can't even stand the idea of talking to another human being or pretending to care about the provenance of a head of lettuce. It’s not a big deal, I know. People do this every day. But there's this specific kind of shame in hearing the delivery van pull up at noon while I’m wearing my 'Support Your Neighbor' tote bag. I literally hide behind the curtains. I wait for the driver to leave so I don't have to witness the physical evidence of my hypocrisy sitting on the porch. It feels like a total disintegration of my core values, or maybe those values were just a performance I can no longer afford to put on. Why do we do this? We build these elaborate moral frameworks just to watch them crumble under the slightest pressure of convenience—it's like we're programmed for failure. I keep trying to categorize this as a localized burnout or some kind of executive dysfunction, but those terms feel too clinical for how hollow I actually am. I’m thirty-one and I’m hiding from a delivery driver because I’m too tired to be the person I tell everyone else to be. I look at my son and I wonder what kind of blueprint I’m giving him. If we are just the sum of our actions, then I’m not a community advocate anymore. I’m just a consumer unit for a global conglomerate. The identity loss is... it's a lot. I don't recognize the person who needs the "one-click" dopamine hit just to get through the week. I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking the logistics of a grocery order. But it feels like I’m losing the ability to distinguish between who I am and the utility I provide. We talk about the 'social contract' like it’s this grand thing, but really it’s just a series of small, exhausting choices that I’m failing to make. I’m sitting here in the dark, the blue light of my phone making my eyes ache, and I’m already adding more stuff to the cart for tomorrow because I know I won’t have the capacity to be 'local' then either. It's just easier to let the machine take care of it while I slowly disappear.