Years ago, when I was still living in California, I had an unflappable friend. Both she and her husband had important, responsible jobs at a major company, and both were excellent at Being Adults. One year they decided to redo their house. The put a second story on their one-story home. They gutted the kitchen. Anyone who has ever had renovation work done knows that it is stressful.

One afternoon, out of the blue, my friend called me. She was crying, and doing the gulping-hiccuping that goes with a big, ugly cry. The cause of the distress was that her contractor asked her to make a decision regarding faceplates for the light switches. She. Just. Couldn’t. Decide. One. More. Thing. It didn’t matter that it was faceplates that brought her to her knees, crying; it could have been anything.

I’m having a faceplate moment.

I don’t want to write ten-thousand words about it. It has to do with subsidized housing, the homeless shelter, possibly falling into enough money to stay in my apartment, possibly falling into enough money to have me lose all of my safety-net support. (That’s a few, long rants for the future.) My mental health has flatlined. I can’t think. I can’t decide One.More.Thing.

I talked with my Canadian friend last night. I met with my therapist today. There’s really nothing anyone can do, and I don’t have enough information to make an informed decision or five, but I may still have to make a decision. That’s driving me crazier.

I had a good piece of advice years ago: If you are driving yourself crazy trying to make a decision, ask yourself if you have to make it right now, this very instant. If not, then don’t! Make the decisions when you have to, and oftentimes the extra time you gave yourself will provide you with more information. This advice has served me well; however, I don’t have similar advice about if you are driving yourself crazy trying to make a decision that does have to be decided right now and you don’t have all of the information you need.

My black humor response is that it is all probably a moot point anyway, since the stress is destroying my health, I’ll probably just keel over from a heart attack anyway. Problem solved.


  1. ah you still have your macabre sense of humor. worse you have just taught me how to spell macabre. PS – please skip the heart attack.


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