He didn’t have any idea
how to address the sit
uation. I mean, he had
plenty of fantastical scen
arios playing around in
that head of his, to be
certain, but when it came
to moving any of these
notions toward action,
something to force the
problem in some dire
ction, even if the idea
would potentially back
fire (isn’t there always
a chance this might
happen – this thought
was primary in render
ing him ineffectual), he
wanted to believe that
this was a choice he’d
made, to simply stag
nate, to sit on the issue,
so to speak, and he’d
occasionally believe
this firmly enough that
he’d do just that, stub
bornly sit, be it at his
desk or on a parkbench
or at some bland cafe
for hours at a time, think
ing himself headstrong.
But somewhere deep
within that supposedly
strong head of his, he
knew. He knew that
this act of defiance,
that his inaction,
would not only
exacerbate his
little problem
into one that
would be, in
the end, un
manageable.
It would be
come out of
control in such
a way that no
matter what
action might
even potentially
be drawn from the
deep well within him
self (it was a fantasy
of his that this well
was deep, of course),
that this tiniest of
problems would
inevitably lead to
his demise.
ing himself headstrong.
But somewhere deep
within that supposedly
strong head of his, he
knew. He knew that
this act of defiance,
that his inaction,
would not only
exacerbate his
little problem
into one that
would be, in
the end, un
manageable.
It would be
come out of
control in such
a way that no
matter what
action might
even potentially
be drawn from the
deep well within him
self (it was a fantasy
of his that this well
was deep, of course),
that this tiniest of
problems would
inevitably lead to
his demise.
