I try not to think about my health too often (obsession with one’s state of health is a sure sign of age). But sometimes in the interest of living longer, you have to take a look at what you’ve done, what you’re doing, and what’s going to happen if you keep on doing it. If I had to make a bet, I’d guess that stress will get me in the end. I can feel it coiling in my stomach and chest, like a taut rubber band.
I really have nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about, nothing over which to lose a moment’s sleep, and I don’t want to die because I was too stupid to resign my self-appointed position as General Manager of the Universe.
The Universe is going to have to run itself from now on. I quit.
I hope the Universe doesn’t write back and say, “You can’t quit. You’re fired!”