As I watched the tube fill from a glossy yellow to a deep red, I felt less alive than ever. It entered the machine, whirring and spinning as if inconvenienced. Meanwhile, I sat there. At first it seemed like hours, and it slowly became hours. What felt like the entire day ticked by—as slowly as the red in the tube—while I stared at the machine. I could be called, at best, an accessory to this process. Most of the other people plugged into their own machines were older than me. If this is something that adults need, why do I have to be here?