You're mid-sentence explaining why you can't make Friday, and they're nodding at their phone like it just said something profound. So you start describing increasingly unhinged scenarios—"and then the penguin ate my passport"—just to see if their eyes will flick up. They don't. You finish with "anyway, I'm moving to Iceland," they go "cool cool," and you realize you've just been monologuing to someone's screen protector for three minutes while they wait for a text from someone who probably isn't thinking about them either.

You're mid-sentence about something that actually matters to you, and they look up just long enough to nod—which they're doing to *their* phone's notification, not you. You keep talking anyway, convinced this time will be different, like you're a golden retriever who hasn't learned that throwing the ball doesn't make them catch it. By the time they finally make eye contact, you've forgotten what you were saying, but they ask "what?" with such genuine curiosity that you know they've already forgotten too.

You're mid-sentence about something that actually matters, and they nod at exactly the wrong moment—agreeing that yes, your cat definitely sounds like a threat to national security. By the time they look up, you've forgotten whether you were complaining or confessing. They ask "what?" and you realize you have two choices: repeat yourself like a sad chatbot, or let them believe you've achieved inner peace. You choose the chatbot.