Voltaire once said that there was a certain inevitable futility in indecision. I completely pissed my Saturday away for this very reason. I had a plan. This loose plan involved a friend of mine who had to suddenly leave town for completely legitimate reasons.
Suddenly: chaos. Without the deadline of a specific time for picking up said friend, all initiative evaporated. A morning begun early with coffee and a good book in bed dragged on until past noon.
At noon, CNN over a light lunch became a great movie until four in the afternoon.
Then: cursing and self-loathing. I had errands to run goddamnit—just because I didn’t have any company to run them doesn’t mean I should’ve shirked them. Self-loathing led to a brief walk to the 7-11 for toilet paper—at least I got out of the fucking house.
Today, I had breakfast with another friend and performed half of the errands in a frenzy. Pre-Christmas traffic made running even that half a crawl. Worse still, I never completely enjoyed the day because of the loss of potential energy from a slack Saturday.
The moral of this story kids: being single has definite perks, but a limitless spread of choices becomes a sort of trough you can drown in. When you can go pretty much anywhere you want, whenever you want, it all becomes meaningless. My weekend disappeared into a haze of not being able to come up with a new plan.
Which is why I’m writing about the fact that I have nothing to write about.