My Brain Has Submitted Its Resignation – When Indecision is the Decision.

Those weeks when even basic decisions feel like advanced project management.

That’s it; I have decided that I am incapable of thinking for myself. Well, at least I don’t want to. Why do we always have decisions to make? I don’t want them anymore. Can’t someone just come in and make all the decisions for me? I am having an indecision day.

What do I eat for dinner? I don’t know, anything. How about just putting a plate in front of me and telling me to eat it. This I could see working really well, too well, in fact. I can see it now. I walk in from work; Philomina the fairy has been hard at it, slaving away at the stove to produce a beautiful evening meal. I sit down at the dining table and eat. No decisions about what to have and certainly no cooking- just turn up and eat. I haven’t got to think about how many pots that meal will produce because sometimes that is also a deciding factor: can I really be bothered to clean all of that up after? Often the answer is no.

Philomina the fairy brings warmth to the dinner as she serves a delightful homemade dish to her smiling friends, surrounded by twinkling lights and cosy ambience.

When the Weekend Resignation Might Turn Into a New Veg Patch

What are we doing this weekend? I don’t know; whatever you want, so we do nothing. Why is it I always have to decide? How about you surprise me? I don’t need anything extravagant or even a scheduled, fun-filled weekend; I’d be happy to just go for a walk. But no, I am expected to come up with something amazing that you could go back to work on Monday and go, guess what we did this weekend and actually have a story rather than- drumroll, please… Nothing.

I suggest,

“let’s go for a walk.”

“No, that’s boring.”

“Let's go for a wander into town, have a mooch.”

“No, cost’s too much.”

“Let’s go for a drive.”

“Yes ok,” I’m thinking yes; we have finally turned a corner, we are about to actually do something, get excited, quick, get your shoes before he changes his mind, and then,

“Where?”

“I don’t bloody know.”

“How are we supposed to go for a drive then?”

“Ok, let’s go to the beach.”

“Too far.” At this point, I begin breathing exercises. I can feel the blood pressure rising; I really might need to get this checked. He is giving me nothing to work with, no suggestion, no motivation, absolutely nothing. Talk about overthinking this.

“Fine, let’s stay in.”

“And do what?” Really.

“Let’s do some gardening, dig a veg patch.”

“What for?”

“To bury you in.”

Fresh beginnings: Transforming a weekend resignation into a flourishing vegetable patch.

He laughs. I can’t believe it. How can he find this funny? I am seething at this point. So it comes to Sunday night. I refrained from suggesting anything else. I did some gardening, and no, I didn’t bury him; there is no new veg patch. I went for a walk, which was lovely; I had a really nice time, on my own mind, but good all the same, and he says,

“I can’t believe it’s Sunday night already; I had so many plans this weekend but didn’t get the chance to do any of them.”

Really, what has he done that interfered with his plans? I swear, I must be living a different weekend than he has, because from what I can see, he did nothing, and I mean nothing. I tried to get him to do something, anything, but he didn’t want to; he literally said he had no plans, hence the suggestions of us doing something together. I give up. He actually looks like he has missed out on something fabulous, something earth-shattering, so I ask, slightly amused but genuinely curious,

“What did you want to do?”

“I was going to clean my bike. I have a new exhaust I have been meaning to put on and haven’t got round to it, and I wanted to do a bit of painting.”

Then why didn’t you? You have been in all weekend and not gotten around to it, really. You lazy ass mo fo. How about getting off your arse and doing it then, instead of watching other people do what you want to do on YouTube and saying you are just seeing how to do it is a rubbish excuse. You have watched that many videos; you are an expert- just bloody have a go. Instead, I reply,

“Oh, that’s a shame, I will put the kettle on.” I have nothing. Next weekend he can decide what we are doing.

Staring Into The Abyss With Decision Fatigue

Navigating the supermarket aisles, faced with an overwhelming array of choices, a shopper ponders her next purchase.

Shopping. Have you ever stood in the aisle, staring into the fridge and realised that you actually have to open the door to get what's staring back at you? Then it registers that nothing in the fridge is staring at you, and that is the problem. You are surrounded by people on a mission, trolleys darting in and out of those meandering, reaching past for the butter, clearly having remembered the list.

Then there is you.

Staring at the pies and waiting for one of them to jump out of the stack, to fall straight onto the shelf, shouting,

“Pick me.”

How am I supposed to know which one? Do we go with the Steak and kidney, steak and ale, chicken and veg, chicken and leek, minced beef and onion, just steak, just chicken, chicken and mushroom, chicken balti or vindaloo (how is that even a pie). So many choices; I’ll wait, surely one will jump out in a minute. Do you think anyone has noticed that I have been standing here for potentially five minutes now, staring at these pies? My brain has officially resigned.

Do I even want a pie?

I can’t just leave now. I am committed; I have been standing here wondering which pie for far too long.

I have to get one.

Someone reaches across with that awkward smile that says, are you ok but I’m not asking because I can clearly see that it’s not, and if I do ask, you might give me your life story, and I’m realistically not that invested. They take the top one; clearly they haven’t looked, because who even eats Balti pie, but they do knock the other off its perch. We are having steak and ale tonight.

Now onto the yoghurts.

Actually, I might skip the yoghurts today; my indecision might get me a parking ticket.