I’m watching the dishwasher cycle now, 2:17 AM. After Alex's comment at dinner, about my "contribution" being less tangible than hers, I just kept washing the plates. Seven plates, three bowls, two serving dishes, one casserole, all by hand first. My hands were submerged in exactly 43-degree water, a low-grade thermal stimulus. I registered no internal shift, no anger, no sadness—just a methodical removal of adhered food particles. I'm cataloging this data, this absence of affect. Is this dissociation, or merely an efficient coping mechanism for a perceived deficit? The suburban quiet is absolute, except for the hum.