Everything is freight if you stare at it long enough

I keep catching myself doing it now — a silence at dinner becomes a shipment to track, a friend's vague reply becomes a customs clearance I need to push through. The lost container still sits in my head, but I'm not grieving it anymore; I've turned the whole world into cargo so I can feel useful sorting it. Lately I wonder if that's just how my brain put itself back together, or if I've simply started filing every feeling under 'in transit'.