Choices:

For some reason there is sense of  unsettle building within.
Yes, admitted, there are zillion things on mind and a million things to
be sorted. But , still, I am not new to have zillion things. This
somehow seems important, as if a lot depends on this set of choices. It
is a cruel word, choice. Which reminds me of what EM Forster had
written in Where Angels Fear to Tread:
Every little trifle, for some
reason, does seem incalculably important today, When you say of a thing
that “nothing hangs on it” it sounds like blasphemy. There’s never any
knowing – how am I to put it? – which of our actions, which of our
idlenesses won’t have things hanging on it for ever.

True, There’s no way knowing, there’s no way telling. Really. The pain of being a human. The callousness of it.