Unfurl

Unfurl.

I like that word. I heard it in a song today.

Unfurl.

It's almost fun to say, too. "Unfurl."

Though it relates to ships and sails, Webster also says that unfurl is: "unroll, unfold, or spread out or be unrolled, unfolded, or spread out from a furled state; "unfurl a banner"

Spread our from a furled state. That's me. I need to be unfurled. I believe I'm suffering from anality (which until two seconds ago, I didn't realize was a word). "Anality - Being in an anal state as per psychoanalysis or psychology."

I think too much, but honestly, I don't know how to stop. I analyze too much, but I don't know hot to stop that, either. Sometimes I'm too logical, and sometimes I'm too emotional, and sometimes I'm the perfect blend of both. But not today. Today I need to unfurl, as I'm a bit too anal.

I'm anal about my work. I like things done well and I like them done right. I like to work hard, and I often work too long. And if you're working for me, I expect you to work hard, too. No whiners allowed! ...I'm not really sure I know how to relax. You see, I need to unfurl.

I'm anal about my couch cushions. I will prop them upright several times a day (subconsciously, I might add), just so they look tidy and neat. I'm not really sure why I do that, but, you see, I need to unfurl.

I'm anal about how my towels are folded. In half long ways, then thirds. Same with washcloths. They fit so nicely into the linen closet that way, and look so very tidy. All folded corners go in the same direction; crisp and clean. I'm not really sure why I do this, either, but, as you know now, I need to unfurl.

But, I'm not very good at unfurling, for, in my mind, to properly unfurl, things must be in order. Order for me brings relaxation, and without order, I cannot unfurl. So, to properly unfurl, things must be in the right order and then the unfurling can begin. Oh, how I long to unfurl.

And I've just realized something: I am psychotic.

But at least I know it.

But, let's do take into consideration that I haven't slept properly in...3 weeks. And being up with a fussing baby for 3 hours every night is not helping the situation at all. And I'm still not too terribly hungry. I've lost 7 pounds in the last 2 weeks, too. I hope it's not my much beloved muscle...I keep trying to buy a new pair of jeans, but every time I go shopping for them, I'm in-between sizes. I bought a thrift store (oh, how I love the thrift store!) pair of GAP jeans two weeks ago, they were tight. Now they fall off and look too baggy. But really, I've just realized, who cares.

I ran 10 miles today. I was shooting for 11, but I suppose 10 will do. Actually, no, that's not true. Because of the fact I am anal, I'm rather perturbed by the fact that I didn't do the full 11, as that's what I had set out to do. I let someone talk me out of doing the last mile, and now I regret it. If I didn't have children to watch, I'd lace up my shoes and go run the fitness trail just so I could fall alseep at night knowing that I'd accomplished what I set out to do. I believe I have a word for this: anality. Anality and details, they will be the death of my free spirit.

And yes, I am a free spirit. But not completely. I am an oximoronic free spirit, for a free spirit is: "someone acting freely or even irresponsibly." I can't quite act irresponsibly, even when I am being free. Yes, I beleive that classifies me as an oximoronic free spirit. And no, I don't even know if that's a word, but I like it, so it should be.

I'm feeling overwhelmed lately. And I know why, too. Because things aren't going according to plan. At least, not to MY plan (which has been scrutinized, analyzed, pothesized, and conceptually realized, so how bad of a plan can it be?). You see, once again, I need to unfurl.

And I ask myself at this very moment: why am I typing into cyberspace? About nothing, really. Why do I like this? Why do I do it? Why do I spend my precious free moments in this (as I tell myself) secret little place.....I'm not quite sure.

I don't like to waste time. And I especially don't like people to waste MY time. Like yesterday, thanks to a slip of a caseworker's memory lobe, I had to spend an extra hour at the doctor's office, waiting, with a baby that doesn't like waiting, either. I really don't like waiting. I get antsy waiting. Technically, I get antsy waiting when the clock is ticking. I'm anal: I don't like to waste time. Or money. Or food. Or anything, really. I just don't like waste.

But we know by now, of course, that I need to unfurl. UNFURL. So maybe I'll go try to do that (though I do feel like I need a coach, much like the lazmaze coach who was so good at what she did, I often fell asleep during lamaze class), or maybe I'll do what I know best: be anal and go fold my laundry.