STRETCHING

Some days all I want to do is stretch out. You know, arms straight, fingers extended, legs strained and toes wiggling - everything pulled tight, the full starfish.

I’ve said this before, I know I have. But it is true - there are moments like this; moments when you realise you sleep curled up, you eat squashed and hunched over the plate, you work sitting down, then you drive and you’re still not flat. All I want to do is spread out.

Our house though, isn’t really conducive. Until the kitchen is rebuilt, the passage through the living room is barred, making the sofa out of bounds. Not that I could stretch on the sofa anyway.

The floor (everywhere) is dirty. So no floor stretching for me either. I have an office chair which is, well, a chair, and the only way to stretch fully on it would be so that the seat digs neatly into your bum. No thanks. Plus, there’s a high risk of slipping off it. Again, no thank you.

The bath’s too short. That’s just the mechanics of it, though it is quite nice to float in.

And all of that leaves the bed - which is what I would describe as 'perfect for the task'. Enough room to starfish? Yes. Completely flat? You betcha. Comfortable? Almost as though it was designed for it.

The only tiny snag with the bed is that I have to share it. And doing the starfish isn’t popular with someone who might get poked in the eye by an outstretched arm.

I think it’s about more than just physically stretching though. I think part of me needs to push and strain and test my limits, not remain coiled in the same old familiar way of things. I need everything within me to tense and relax, tense and relax, pound the rhythm of the heart as blood pumps to every outstretched limb. I need space, and time, and freedom.

And quite specifically, I need not to poke anyone in the eye.