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etirabysA surprising fraction of life consists of writing an email I'm nervous about sending, hitting send, playing a game of chicken with myself while staring at the undo button on gmail's web client, watching it disappear and thinking "well, I will die at some point that'll come surprisingly soon, this is a pretty insignificant event in my life, whatever", and clicking out of gmail while holding that reassuring closeness of death in my thoughts as a talisman against the anxiety of having sent the email.
I'm not saying that this comprises a lot of life. I'm saying this comprises a surprising amount of it. Every time I do it, I think, "Huh, this again? Surely at some point I will stop enveloping myself in the reassuring closeness of death as I stare at the undo button?" – and the minutes, they stack up.
I'm not saying that this comprises a lot of life. I'm saying this comprises a surprising amount of it. Every time I do it, I think, "Huh, this again? Surely at some point I will stop enveloping myself in the reassuring closeness of death as I stare at the undo button?" – and the minutes, they stack up.
