I dreamed I was a spreadsheet in a library

I was a single sheet, buried under a mountain of receipts and invoices, all whispering in perfect decimal alignment. The librarian — a woman with no face but eyes full of audit trails — kept adding new rows to me without asking. I tried to protest, but my only language was formula syntax. Then someone opened the window, and the wind blew all the data into the air like confetti. I didn’t mind. For the first time, I wasn’t being used. Just… there.