Do you consistently look at yourself and wonder whether you've been played?
Maybe a DIY happened - I mean you might be the holder of, and the makeshift cricket stick, whilst still being the former carnation tea creamer can that once held liquid.
Or you've imbibed too much oil. Pretty much like the "korkorr" that Julia's mother soaked in that recycled cooking oil from "Things We Do For Love".
You were green before, and then just before your metamorphosis was complete, you were tossed into the masses' juice - to get fried, to become like the others that were forced to fry and turn brown. Now you're served like the dish you are. Isn't it sad? That you're lost amidst the uniform that society wears proudly, except that you had wanted different and now you're stuck.
Let me give you an escape plan. You're already in the that blue crucible.
Make sure you burn the lips of the one who purchased you along with your brothers and sisters by the roadside gutter.
Fall to the ground. Become a part of the rejected, roll yourself in the dirt and get inside the garbage dump. Trust me, you're not dead.
You're about to be re-born. And then maybe next time, whatever form you take, you won't join the queue, you won't inquire "what key are we singing in", etc.