A coin flip when you're alone and stuck

I was standing in front of the fridge. Door open. Just staring. It was late, and I was tired. The choice between leftover pasta or making a sandwich felt huge.

When the small things get loud

It wasn't about the food. It was the silence. The quiet of the apartment made every thought echo. Usually, I'd just ask my roommate what she wanted.I'd wait for her to pick the movie. Or the restaurant. It was easier that way. The weight of deciding, even tiny things, just dissolved when someone else did it.

The relief of a random nudge

I dug a quarter out of the bowl by the door. It felt silly. But my brain was just spinning in circles. Heads for pasta, tails for the sandwich.I didn't even look at it right away. I flipped it, caught it, and slapped it on my wrist. The cool metal was a shock against my skin. A tiny, physical interruption to the mental loop.I peeked. It was heads. Pasta. And just like that, the noise stopped. The decision was made. Not by me, really. But it was done.

What the coin doesn't decide

You still have to heat the pasta. You still have to eat it. The coin just gets you moving. It breaks the deadlock in your own head.

A quiet permission slip

It feels like giving yourself permission to not be the decider for a second. To let chance, or a piece of metal, take the wheel. It's a small surrender that actually gives you back your evening.