Pisces

Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm horribly indecisive. It's awful shopping with me when I'm really shopping. I try on a million things, spend forever in the dressing room looking at myself from every possible angle, trying to decide if I really like it enough to spend the money on it. And then half the time the clothes (actually mostly just jeans) end up not fitting right when I get home and wear them...

So I'm not waiting anymore.
I have an answer.
And I still don't know what I'm going to do.

A poem for your reflection:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I know that when people think of this poem the general idea people give to it is that we should all chart our own ways in life!! take that road less traveled!! and all that crap. But I think it's saying that in life we can't do it all. We can't travel down all the roads we'd like to. Sometimes you just have to choose between two things that have been "worn...really about the same," and you "doubt if [you] should ever come back." You'll never know what might've happened if you had gone with the other thing instead. And I hate that! It reminds me of a quote from Sylvia Plath's novel The Bell Jar (it's way long, but really good):

"..I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

I sit in a fig tree with options surrounding me, but I can't just pick a darn fig to eat so I sit there while they drop.
And this is getting way more dramatic than the event inspiring it ever demanded, but oh well. I'm good at hyperbole on this blog.