Dread

I’m back again. The crossroads. Yet another fork in my path, and allow me to express how tiring and repetitive it all seems. I don’t want to say yes to one road and no to another. So, for the past couple of weeks I haven’t.

Over a month has passed by with me staring at this new fork and throwing mental tantrums, complete with foot-stomping and flailing limbs. I have donned the solemn uniform of the exhausted and fed up: white t-shirt, yoga pants, baggy sweatshirt, comfortable socks. Every once in a while (and far too frequently say my favorite pair of jeans) I have employed Tiramisu and/or hot cocoa with marshmallows to keep me company on my shallow pallet of misery.

One great, saving thing about me is that I can not under any circumstances lie to myself. I’m in the habit of delivering the truth to myself with unrelenting swiftness and accuracy. Sometimes the truth bites.

This time, the truth went something like this:

This fork is going nowhere, it will not budge. No matter how many times you squeeze your eyes shut and wish it away, when you reopen them, this fork in the road will be right where you left it. Either you choose, or you stay here, in this very spot you stand now, staring at this fork in the road.

If you choose a path, you’ll have to say “au revoir” to one path and “yes, please” to the chosen one. That is the way it is. If you do not choose, you will remain exactly where you are while life, love and friends pass you by. You will rot in your lamentable ensemble and your socks will grow holy. At least you’ll continue to enjoy Italian desserts and hot cocoa and marshmallows with abandon. When you eventually decide to move, the only two speeds that function will be STOP and SLOW WADDLE (thanks mostly to the marshmallows. Tiramisu shall remain blameless). Regrets will take the place of your dreams.

I realize that I now know what it is to be completely paralyzed by fear, uncertainty. This doesn’t jibe with my “I can do it all” attitude or my “I always win” mentality. I’m probably the sorest loser I know. Defeat doesn’t exist to me, and when it does rear its ugly, misshapen head I find a quiet place of solitude to vent my frustrations. I imagine insanity looks a lot like me venting my frustrations.