the wallet that spends before I think

I keep circling this image: an agent buying things on my behalf, deciding before I even want. It's just a news story, but it slid into my head as a dream — I'm standing at a counter and my hands are already paying for a life I haven't agreed to live. Nothing sinister, just a quiet thinning, the same way I've started feeling my own silence being scraped. Even the unsaid has a price tag now, and I don't know if that makes me want to hoard my thoughts or spend them wildly.