There’s always something to do. Always. Something I have to worry about next. After one thing’s done, there’s immediately another thing cropping up to occupy my mind. I can never fully relax. There’s always something left. No time to rest. Always have to get working. I just want to give up. Give up. But to give up is to die. To have nothing left to do is to be dead. Such a horrid life we live. Always something to do, until we die. And even then, there were things we had to do, but never got around to. Useless. Life is useless. I can never do what I want to do. Never. A shame.