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I would hate to suggest that I find moments of indecision crippling, because I can’t shake the feeling that it would indicate a certain lack of robustness to my character.  I will say this: I find moments of indecision frustrating, like walking on a foot with pins and needles.  Example: I had to enrol in my final two units to complete my current degree.  I narrowed the selection down to three, and spent a fortnight trapped in the following loop: I like x, y and z; I can only have two; which two will I enjoy most? I finally decided that I’d probably be happy with any two of the three and selected the ones I was most likely to already have the required texts for.

A more relevant example would be the current knit I’m working on.  It’s a present, a lovely present for a lovely person.  That person, however, knows I blog about my knittings, and occasionally reads the blog.  What if they read it, see the gift, and it ruins the surprise?  Disaster!  Or worse: what if someone else reads it, sees the gift, assumes it’s for them, and then is hideously and silently disappointed when it turns out not to be for them?  THEN WHAT?   As you can see, the pressure is devastating.  I keep thinking the best thing is for me to stay silent and keep knitting, but the nature of this project is such that it is consuming my every knitting moment.  I’m learning heaps and I desperately want to talk about it with everybody.  Well, you know, not everybody, just people who know knitting.

I was seized up with indecision.  Then I realised that it’s just a blog, and in all likelihood, nobody is going to read it anyway.  Remarkably freeing.

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