Letting the days go by

I've been wondering today: when did I decide that I had to be the one to do absolutely everything? Why do I have to do every experiment that occurs to me. Why do I have to write every article? Why is it so important that I have a chance to write another book? Is this all really about the fear of death? Or is it about something else?

No clue.

Life is just too difficult to understand. I want to be everywhere, think everything, taste everything, say everything, sleep with everyone, experience every sensation. None of this makes much sense, nor is it doing me much good.

I want everything to stop. Just even for 15 minutes. I want to stand under old hemlock trees again. I want to go to Mali.