Flantilation

I dream big these days.

Sharks and dragons last night, grande hotels and prisons last week, saving Hannah, convincing Jesse to tell the truth.

And then someone told me my problem:

Flantilation, he said, which of course means "severe restlessness."

Of course. So I googled it.

It's not there. Or anywhere.

Friends and family are piping in on the matter, holding strong opinions on the fate of this new word and its' well-timed birth in this Ecclesiastical world where nothing is new under the sun.

Except flantilation.

One can be a flantilate, flantilizing between decisions and those blessed forks in the yellow wood. Flantilates are also prone to wandering while others wonder when and where all of this flantilizing stops. Or will it? Is flantilation chronic?

This has all the marrow of a really great kids book. Some Seussical rhyming and puffy dragons could make bank on a concept about some quizzical little blonde girl running around a big, scary world asking each soul "Are you my mother?" kind of questions, wide-eyed and confident. Red shoes.

Sigh. I'm glad I'm not that girl. I'm glad my life is put together and my biggest conundrum is making sure I don't pick up bicycles from the Four Seasons before the guest is finished using them. Not that I would EVER make a mistake at such a simple job. Never. Ever.

I screwed up today.

Thank goodness for big dreams.