The Man Without Qualities, Robert Musil
I remember when I was young, occasionally obsessing over infinitely meaningless and trivial moments - throwing away a piece of gum, for example. One time I recall quite clearly. I was at that time frozen by the awareness that any given moment affects and directly explains/connects to the next. Fate, or whatever one calls the outcome of one’s life, is explained hazardously and not so well by the tumult of experience.
Still breathing but barely.