BLECH

I am currently at the Newport Beach Library where, in order to gain internet access, one must supply a password.

The password can be virtually anything - you don't have to use it again this session, and you'll pick a new one the next time you sign on.

A little pop-up window prompts me to enter my desired password, and I find myself paralyzed. 

It matters less than anything has ever mattered, and yet I am stuck.

Anything I want?? I wail. But, I need some constraints! I imagine the librarians looking through the passwords after hours, giggling at the stupid ones. Because there's such thing as a "cool" temporary Wifi password?

I think of my therapist, of the last time I mentioned my woe over making even the smallest of choices, and how he suggested I try making snap decisions in small moments where it truly doesn't matter. 

Moments like this.

Hurry! I think. Pick something, anything!!

And then my fingers type, "BLECH" into the empty box.

BLECH. As in, the noise my brain is making right now.

BLECH. An onomatopoeia for woeful indecision.