There's no end to it, the concious stream of thought. Even in my sleep, I can see the same trains of thought rolling on. For some reason a Johhny Cash song just popped into a side thought.
I've done everything I can, to try and get more driving hours. I don't ask for much, barely the air in my lungs, but when I do ask for something... it's because I need help. Compare this to my mother who will walk into my room and ask for sth to be brought out to here from the kitchen, when the freaking kitchen is on the other side of the hallway!
It feels like to be on the other side of plate glass.
To die: to sleep; no more; and by a sleep to say we end; the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks; that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation; devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come; when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect; that makes calamity of so long life
Remind me never to read Hamlet again...