...
I would have shared this with a young man in Lapland. He wanted to build me a cabin where I could be the nanny for his children. Except, of course, he didn't have any children, and somehow ended up killing himself over the project of getting himself a mother to produce those children.
He didn't make 30. A genius cab driver who could speak seven languages didn't make 30.
I'm pretty sure I was in third grade when I first identified this problem. My hand shot up in class. Mrs. Benz had been telling us about all these spectacular geniuses through history and every one of them died too young, committed suicide either accidentally or on purpose, and I was that quickly alarmed by the math dancing in the ether where her words vibrated in my hearing.
I wanted to stop it.
It isn't stopping.
pipe up any time....
