We are mortal and our lives are finite. We are beings that have an end, a fulfillment, a death, a nothingness. We are here and then we will not be. And while we are here, we need to do as much as possible. To experience, to feel, to do, to achieve. Sometimes I want to split myself in two and send one part of me to do work and the other to walk the dog. I want one to clean the floors and the other to read essays. I want one to sleep peacefully at lunchtime, and the other to earn money. And there is so much to do that you fall into the pit of these things, drowning in them, only occasionally emerging from them in anxiety. So much to do, and it's all over, a nosebleed.