Titled.

I’ve been staring quizzically at my friend, who is not actually person, for quite awhile.
I think he changes his facial expression like every twenty minutes but all in all, his meaning his clear:
“Hi, Chloe. You suck at this. But I’m not going anywhere. Love you long time.”

My friend is the Decision. He sits glaring and not once has he ever blinked , even though I sit there sometimes squeezing my eyes shut, in hopes that when I open them, he is gone.

He’s never gone. I’ve realized I’ve got to do something about him.

I’ve been plagued with phantasmagoric mental states: Decision as it turns out, is a shape shifter. Occasionally he has blonde hair or occasionally he is a grad school or occasionally he is a crappy summer apartment.

The point is that he’s ubiquitous and entirely unavoidable, which I guess when you think about it, is kind of the point. Because if he weren’t ubiquitous and entirely unavoidable, well then I’d guess we wouldn’t really be souls. Just robots learning to perform a function. Because if everything in life could be fixed by reading the right things or going to the right places, wouldn’t we just be learning how to compute?
Ah. I guess that’s where the whole choosing thing (and closely related cousin: faith) comes in handy.

Someone wise once said: “In mortality, choice isn’t a goal, it’s a method.”

Which at first seems like a nice flowery phrase, but really it means so much. Choice is a method. Not a goal. So the point is not to have choices, but to make them! Cool! And scary!
Choices are not to be collected and put on a bookshelf, looked at and examined, until they are dusted away by the cleaning fairy. No sir. They are to be used. They are utensils.

So this is why I decided (oh!) Decision is my friend and not my enemy. Maybe he’s still the friend I love but don’t like . . . but I’m getting there.