INDECISIVE
I'm back in Prufrock territory, specifically:
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I am completely incapable of making any decision today. We all have them, do we not? Days of indecision.
I refer to the smallest, most inane decisions, of course, rather than weighing in the balance the pros and cons of invading a small country or privatising a nation's steel industry regardless of the social and economic damage that ensues. No, like Prufrock, I have been rendered immobile by small, comparatively inconsequential decisions. On such a stiflingly hot day as today is it too late to drive to the supermarket at one 'clock when the temperature reaches 35? But if I don't, what'll we have for dinner? Should a new desk sit straight across a room or at an angle or not be placed at all in the room for which I thought it was intended.
Good God Douglas! Give us peace man.
I am an irascible, hot, bothered and bothersome old man. By and large decision-making is beyond me today. I can't even work out who or what to blame for my predicament?
Oneself is probably the beginning and end of the search to answer that question. Roll on tomorrow.
