TOSSING, TURNING & DECIDING

I tossed and turned in bed, the sheets tangled around me almost mocking the web of indecision that was my brain at the moment. Each time I thought I had finally settled on a decision, a new wave of doubt crashed over me, pulling me back into uncertainty. The dark of the early morning only deepened my confusion, and the ticking of the clock on my nightstand only made everything worse.

At first, I tried to convince myself that eventually, I'd fall asleep and that a good night's rest would solve everything. But as the hours dragged on, it became clear that sleep was an elusive dream, as fleeting as my clarity on this decision.

I flung the covers off and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

My mind was a tangled mess of fear and hope, swinging from one extreme to the other.

I was torn between wanting to seize this bizarre opportunity and the nagging worry that I might be making a colossal mistake. The idea of facing everyone's judgment—being labelled a gold digger or a failure—loomed over me like a dark cloud.

With a sigh, I climbed out of bed and dragged myself into the kitchen, hoping that the ritual of making coffee would clear my head, but it was no use, as I watched the coffee drip slowly into the pot, my thoughts spiralled.

"What if this is all just a terrible mistake?" I muttered to myself, feeling a twinge of anger at my hesitation. "What if this is just too good to be true?"

During the meeting with Mr Rowley, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something that he was not telling me. However, I did not get the feeling that he was purposely lying…

The smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen, but it did little to soothe my nerves. I sat at the kitchen table, cradling a mug of coffee in my hands, and let my mind wander. My worries were on repeat, echoing through my thoughts like a broken record. What if I take the offer and everyone thinks I'm a sell-out? What if this is just a temporary fix that doesn't solve any of my long-term problems?

I found myself grappling with my emotions—anger, sadness, and even a touch of humour at how weird this whole situation was. I chuckled dryly, shaking my head. "What a mess," I said aloud. "I'm going to need a spreadsheet just to weigh all the emotional pros and cons."

In a rare moment of clarity, I remembered Liz's words from earlier. She'd said that I needed to trust myself, follow my heart, and not let fear dictate my choices. It was easier said than done, but her optimism had a way of cutting through the fog of my self-doubt.

I glanced at the clock again. It was still early, but I couldn't put off the decision any longer. I needed to act, to make a choice, this way I would have enough time to start planning my next steps carefully. I couldn't keep this up for much longer without going insane.

_ _ _

It was time to make a decision, but first, I needed a break from this relentless anxiety.

I started with something I could control. A small decision; I was going to allow myself a moment of whatever felt right…

Throwing the mug I'm holding?

No... I've never felt the urge to break something just to release anger. Also, there was the fact of cleaning up afterwards.

No, no.

I paced in the living room and, with a resigned sigh, decided that perhaps a little distraction was exactly what I needed.

A walk or a run seemed like too much time, also, I know myself, and I would end up thinking back on this while I walk.

My eyes fell on a few stuffed animals that I had set in a corner of my room, a relic from childhood, I kept a few things from my parent's home, but for whatever reason I kept these with me all these years…

And a ridiculous idea took shape.

I plopped down on the couch and gathered them around me, setting up a mock "therapy" session.

"Alright, Team Plush," I began, addressing the assortment of stuffed animals (well, it was only three) and pillows that now surrounded me. "I know it's been a while since I have talked to you. Perhaps over ten years. I know I'm sorry, don't look at me like that! Blame it on growing up!... That's a matter for another day, now, it's time for a serious discussion about my future."

The leader of the group, a rather unimpressive-looking bear with a frayed bow tie, which I creatively called Mr. Stuffington back when I was eight, now was a doctor, so I propped him up as if he were a seasoned therapist.

Next to him was a wise-looking owl, which I used to call Professor Feathers because his sweater reminded me of one of my teachers in school. Finally, a small, dog plush played the role of my personal cheerleader, I couldn't recall his name, so I decided to call him that Cheerful Charlie for this role.

With all of us in place, I adopted a dramatic tone and started explaining my dilemma. "So, Dr. Stuffington, Professor Feathers, and Cheerful Charlie," I said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Here's the situation. I've been offered a career-changing opportunity, but it comes with the catch of pretending to be married to a stranger... And, well, let's face it, even my stuffed friends are better at relationships than I am right now."

I looked at Dr. Stuffington, who seemed to have a permanent, albeit indifferent, expression. "Dr. Stuffington, what do you think I should do? Should I follow this new path or avoid this circus of a proposal?" After a moment, I nodded, "I see you're still mulling the decision."

Professor Feathers, who I imagined to be the voice of reason, was positioned thoughtfully. "Well, Professor," I continued, "if you could speak, what would you say about me pretending to be married just to solve my financial woes?"

Cheerful Charlie, with its bright, inviting smile, was meant to be the optimistic voice. "Charlie, you always cheer me up. Should I take this chance and deal with the potential fallout later?"

I paused, staring at my stuffed audience with a mix of amusement and frustration. "I guess I could take advice from an owl and a bunch of pillows, but somehow I doubt it'll solve my real-life dilemma."

I chuckled, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. "Well, if nothing else, this mock therapy session has been a delightful distraction. And at least I'll have some excellent material for a story about how I consulted my stuffed animals when I'm successful. Or perhaps not, they'll probably think me crazy..."

With a deep breath, I decided that the time was up after this brief respite. It was time to make my decision. But at least I had this moment to help me through the stress.

I grabbed pen and paper and I sat down at the kitchen table, with a fresh cup of coffee.

It was time to lay out my next steps.

_

"Mr Rowley, it's Abigail Walker," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I've made my decision."