Sunday
Sunday. There should be sun in Sunday—it’s right there in the name. But today arrived with rain instead, the kind that settles in your chest when words hang in the air without clear meaning.
I live in a world of absolutes. Everything must be 1 or 0—true or false, yes or no. In programming, this makes sense. It’s clean, efficient. When I write code, I expect it to behave predictably. If it doesn’t, something’s broken. Maybe there’s a missing semicolon, or a decimal sneaking in where it doesn’t belong: 0.14, 0.6, 0.98.
Those decimals aren’t 1 or 0. They’re ambiguous, unpredictable. Once you allow them, the possibilities stretch infinitely. Some people find that beautiful—endless interpretations, gray areas. To me, it’s terrifying.
Even in JavaScript, I write everything with const. Constants. I know what to expect, how to handle every case. I control the variables. There are no surprises.
But what happens when life refuses to compute in binary?
I have a complicated relationship with uncertainty. I’ve built my existence on predictable patterns, accustomed to clear answers, not statements that could mean everything or nothing. I like knowing the parameters. When that clarity disappears, I start to unravel.
It’s the same with people I care about. I need to understand the logic, the expected outcomes. I would rather navigate 90,000 known scenarios than face one moment suspended between interpretations. It feels safer that way—no room for misreading, no surprises that could change everything.
But conversations don’t always follow my rules.
Here’s the irony: I’m a fast learner. Give me a problem, and I’ll break it down, solve it. But present me with words that could be serious or could be jest, from someone whose meaning matters more than my own peace of mind? I freeze.
Today reminded me of this weakness.
A comment. Casual, maybe. Or maybe not. The kind that makes you replay every syllable, searching for the true value hidden in the syntax. Was it humor? Was it something else entirely?
The ambiguity sits in my chest like unresolved code. You know that feeling—when you can’t tell if you’re supposed to laugh or if the ground just shifted beneath everything you thought you understood.
It’s exhausting, existing in that decimal space between certainty and doubt. The discomfort of not knowing if what you have is 1 (solid, real) or 0 (already over), but instead hovers somewhere in that maddening middle ground.
Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe I’m parsing meaning from what was meant to be meaningless. Maybe the problem isn’t the words but my need to compile them into something definitive.
But here I am, still debugging that moment, still trying to process input that doesn’t fit my expected formats. Still hoping for the sun that should come with Sunday, while the rain keeps falling.
Some days, I think the decimals aren’t errors in the system. Maybe they’re features—complexity that makes life more than simple logic. Maybe the discomfort isn’t a bug to be fixed, but proof that some things are too dynamic for neat categories.
But today, sitting with the rain and the uncertainty, I’m just someone trying to debug a heart that refuses to compute in binary, wondering if Sunday will remember how to hold the sun.