The afternoon question

It’s that time again. The afternoon light is flat against the wall, and I’m just sitting here, scrolling through the same product page for the third time. My brain feels like a browser with too many tabs open, all of them asking the same thing.

When the choice feels like a weight

It’s not even about the money, not really. It’s the energy it takes to decide. To weigh the pros and cons one more time, to imagine where it would go, to wonder if I’ll even care tomorrow. The mental math becomes a loop.I know I’m not deciding on anything life-altering. But in that moment, in the quiet of my own living room, it somehow is. It’s a tiny stand-in for every other choice I feel too tired to make.

Letting something else decide

So I opened the wheel. I typed in the options, my fingers moving almost on their own. ‘Buy it now.’ ‘Wait a week.’ ‘Forget it entirely.’ ‘Maybe tomorrow.’ They were all valid. They were all things I could live with.I gave the wheel a spin. It whirred softly on the screen, a little digital carnival game for my indecision. There was a strange relief in handing over the reins, even to a random algorithm. The responsibility was no longer mine alone.It landed on ‘Wait a week.’ A quiet, sensible answer. And I just started laughing. A real, out-loud chuckle at myself. All that mental wrestling, and the answer was simply to pause. To give myself the gift of a non-decision.

The space after the spin

The product page is still open in another tab. But I don’t feel the need to look at it right now. The question has been answered, not by me, but for me. And that’s enough.

A different kind of quiet

The room feels the same. The light hasn’t changed. But the buzzing in my head has stopped. I can hear the clock tick again.