Decidophobia

i refuse to digress; in actuality, i just can't. i thought crosswords were keeping me sane, but it is quite the contrary, logistically speaking. (get it?). aver, bray, lode, cannelloni, good god.

i thought if i got some oil on my forehead, everything would be okay. i've got half of you on my side, and the other half...

it's one of those feelings: hey, i know that joke. hey, what are you doing with your life? hey, i'm proud of you. hey, hey, HEY! [here's my excuse.]

it's one of those so-there's-this-guy moments. it's one of those catch-your-breath-shit-a-brick moments. it's one of those i-finally-found-out-what-i'm-good-at-just-don't-tell-my-dad moments. (sick of those triads yet?)

your house always smelled like coffee and mildew. your room was cold and damp like mine. an earwig sprinted across the pillow and you just flicked away, and i'm not sure what scared me more: the bug or your failure to acknowledge my feelings concerning the creature. to escape the divisive moment, i got up.

[and sometimes, the things that kill you are the things you just have to do. and all the choices you think you have are already chosen for you.]