How could I be expected to make any decisions about anything right now? Dinner? Bah. Weekend plans? Please. I couldn’t even decide what song I was in the mood to listen to.
The man with the constant soundtrack; the man with thousands upon thousands of songs from which to choose. It’s not as if I were too terribly hard to please. My tastes were fairly wide open, with only small glimmers of musical snobbery. Sure, I hated pop music and felt Radiohead was highly overrated, but for the most part I was as flexible as a Russian gymnast on muscle relaxers.
I was easy to please, but only when I knew what he wanted. Perhaps there were too many choices.
Outside the world was waiting with open arms and a dirty grin. The weather was as perfect as it would ever be in any season of any year of my life. It was sitcom perfect.
All I needed to do was find my song—my soundtrack. All I had to do was decide upon the single biggest influence of my day and all the corresponding moments would fall into place as a result.
So why couldn’t I?
What did I want? A trip down memory lane, revisiting those anthems of my indestructible youth? Something new and unfamiliar that I’d never heard before? Did I want something that reflected how I felt, or how I wanted to feel?
How did I feel, anyway?
I wasn’t always this indecisive. Or was I?
I looked out the kitchen window, as a soft cloud rolled by.
Outside I could hear the sound of lawnmowers and barking dogs, children playing and birds singing. Outside I heard the future.
“Perhaps,” I thought, “it wasn’t a choice I should even be making.”
Perhaps, it was time to let fate step in and figure things out for me, by way of modern technology and their attempt to control chaos.
Perhaps, I should just sit back and let the universe decide for me.