On the Comfort of Doubt.

All my recreational distortions of reality, dramatic visualizations, and convoluted syllogisms aside, the truth is that when push comes to shove, I'm simply too decisive for my own good. Always certain, always sure, and very nearly incapable of experiencing doubt. I think part of that comes from a habit of stripping everything down to bare facts, and mostly from keeping it all very black-and-white in the head. But as it goes, the value of things is only known best to one bereft of them. Sometimes, I wish I could just loll around in a comforting stupor of perplexity before having to deal with the reality of things. Alas, as it goes with most of life, I skip ahead. Far ahead of myself, out past the forks in the road, choosing much too fast, much too easily. The decisions I make are never wrong. They just tread upon each other's heels and sometimes, just sometimes, they are meant to bring half my world crashing down. As I continue to skip ahead, I feel like I'm barely escaping the collapse. I'm going way too fast and I'm afraid that soon, in my dazed frenzy, I'll push the big red button intending to charge ahead. And then something would hold me back.