It would be so easy to unravel. Just let the worry and the anxiety and the self-doubt wash over me and sweep me back into the box. That box that I don’t want to be in. The 9-5 every day is the same suburban mundaneness that drives me crazy. Actually, that is what really makes me unravel. It just chips and chips and chips away at my enthusiasm until pretty soon I have none left. Just that robot feeling of get up and do it all over again. Geez, I hate that. It’s not me, it will never be me and I’m tired of not being me. So, I’m not going back in that box. I might be tempted to unravel now but at least I will have the space to do so, as my spirit rolls across the floor and in a new, to be determined direction, where something different and unusual is bound to happen. When you unravel in a box, that’s all there is. You, stewing in your soup, with no where to go.