A friend of mine included the following paragraph in an email about productivity and our mutual inability to relax:
The irony is that people like us will not have a deathbed in which to reflect upon our lives. We will keel over sweeping the kitchen floor or cleaning the litter box, typing a blog, or unpacking grocery bags. At most we will have a fleeting moment to realize that the task we are in the middle of will go unfinished. And as our last act, we will probably make arrangements for it to be completed.
Never before have I read something that sounds so accurate and so depressing and yet so good, too.
