Tracing the Outline of Myself as a Child

...literally. this morning I awoke astonished and confused, with obligations to open the coffee house...and a moment prior I had been living in my dreamworld (as Rilo Kiley likes to say) and was just beginning the act of
Tracing the Outline of Myself as a Child. It sounds very Dali-esque. But what does it all mean?

Myself as a child was maybe three years old. I had short cap sleeves and short short hair, and I was tracing myself's left side. Which to my contemporary self was on the right. I anticipate that has got to be a crucial detail. I had only arrived at the specific and delicate curvature of the cap sleeve when the alarm ruined my life...or the life I was living as I traced the outline of myself.

Usually when I can't sleep (most nights) or wake from a dream and think "what the F?". I can associate the experience with something that is or has been occurring in my waking life. But here at the cap sleeve and the three year old me, I am at a loss. On a hunch I will venture a guess on antisocialism. Historically, realistically, three me was silent; morbidly shy. The comfort of having limits, guidelines, outlines I suppose, in the graphic sense, was reassuring...a parameter to fit into. To translate it to the present, I return full-circle to the forced socialism that exhausts my daily interactions as teacher and customer-server. These situations mimic a sort of outline, traced over and over again through repeated work routines. They have familiarity, guidelines, still circumventing a certain innate introversion.

But maybe now in adulthood I have been fortunate enough to have found my voice and a little bit of confidence, I have shed the outline of myself and am free to exist in any vague, symbolic and non-literal way I please.