My apartment building just installed those new high-tech package lockers where you scan a QR code to open them.

And every time I go down to get a delivery, I walk like a secret agent, dramatically scanning the code as if I'm disarming a bomb, even if it's just my subscription box of artisanal cheeses.

I tried meditating this morning, like my wellness app suggested.

Five minutes in, my brain was just a frantic PowerPoint presentation of every undone chore, forgotten email, and questionable life choice I've ever made.

I was at the grocery store, dramatically tossing items into my cart, when I caught myself

narrating my own shopping experience in a voiceover, 'She reaches for the organic quinoa, a symbol of her defiance against the mundane.'

I'm not one to complain about minor setbacks, but the other day my coffee shop order was wrong, so

I delivered a 10-minute soliloquy about the human condition, the fleeting nature of caffeine, and the crushing despair of a misplaced creamer, all while the barista stood there, politely asking if I wanted it remade.