You know when you’re just… going through the motions, I guess? Like everything just kinda… happens, and you’re there for it, but not really *in* it. It’s like you’re watching a really long, kinda boring movie about your own life. And sometimes you try to shake it up, you know? Like, “Okay, today’s the day I’m gonna actually *live* a little,” and then you end up doing the same old thing, same old routes to work, same old small talk at the general store where everyone knows everyone and their cousin’s second cousin. And you think, maybe it’s just this place, this small town where the biggest excitement is when the new tractor parts come in, and you’ve seen it all before, but then you realize you brought yourself here, sorta, and you’re still here, so… what then? And that’s how I ended up on this first date, right? Because you gotta try, I guess. You gotta put yourself out there, even though the last time you did it felt like… well, it felt like a lot of effort for not much return. And I was trying, really, I was trying to be charming, and funny, and you know, interesting. But my brain just wasn’t… firing, you know? It was like trying to start an old engine in the winter. So I just kept my phone under the table, like a total teenager, and kept punching in stuff like, “witty response to anecdote about a cat that plays fetch,” or “charming compliment for someone who likes obscure indie bands.” And it would give me all these… *options*, all these perfectly phrased, clever little bits, and I’d just regurgitate them, kinda. And the date went… fine, I guess. It was okay. We laughed, we talked, and he seemed… impressed, maybe? I don’t know. But then I got home, and I was just sitting there, and it just hit me, like a really slow, dull thud. You know that feeling when you realize you just… faked your way through something that was supposed to be real? And it wasn’t even a big deal, not like it was some life-altering conversation, but still. It was supposed to be *me*, and it just… wasn’t. It was like a script written by a bot, you know? And the worst part is, it didn’t even feel that bad. Like, it should have, right? It should have felt awful, or shameful, or something. But it was just… flat. Like everything else. And you just wonder, sometimes, is this just… it? Is this how it goes now? You just outsource your personality and hope for the best? And then you just… go to sleep, and do it all again tomorrow, or next week, or whenever. Just keep going.