I'm a great decision-maker.
I truly believe that most decisions aren't really decisions at all. Whenever a choice presents itself in life, we already know what we will do. The decision-making process is really only the process of rationalizing a way to make the choice we want to make seem like the right thing to do.
But I've had a barrage of decisions to make this week.
My husband broke his cell phone. Do I want to give him mine and change phone plans myself? Well, I thought I did, but apparently Cingular and their Early Termination Fee have other plans.
Do I want to spend an entire summer at our beach house?
I know, I know. That's quite the la-di-da decision to have to make. But it involves being away from my husband (again!) for a few weeks. Ironically, he wants me to go. I made a flippant comment about spending the summer on the Cape since it is so flipping hot here, and he answered, "Why don't you?"
Now I have to decide when to go, how to get there, and just how much I'm willing to let my parents take my kids.
Suddenly, the decision-making queen can't seem to pull her head out of her ass long enough to think things through.
So fuck it. I'm going.
I've got to clean. I've got to pack. I've got to pay bills. I've got to lose the guilt about moving my son's appointment at the sleep clinic back a couple of months. I need to shake the guilt about leaving Buffy behind with my husband because she has to go to the vet.
Oh yeah. Did I mention that my son has a sleep disorder? (A harmless one, we think.) Did I mention that Buffy is sick? (With some sort of liver disorder.)
Isn't it funny how I don't talk about the real-life things that bother me?
I might not be able to make the decision about when I want to leave for the Cape, but I can easily decide to keep all of my real fears buried deep.