I'm trying to pinpoint this sudden onset of… existential dread? I was just making my usual chamomile, the ritual so ingrained, and then my hand shook – just a micro-tremor, barely perceptible, but it was there. And immediately, my internal monologue shifted from planning tomorrow's sprint to calculating remaining seasons, like a grim actuarial table. It’s illogical, this intensity of feeling, given the minor stimulus; I almost feel like I’m observing a biological response I don’t fully comprehend, some primitive circuit firing off. My neighbors are probably already thinking about summer camp sign-ups for their kids, and I’m here, cataloging my physical decline like a diagnostic report.