Recently, I actually heard the lines from George Harrison's "While my guitar gently weeps".
I don't know why nobody told you
how to unfold your love
I have a black skirt with a hundred pleats. I look hot in it, but it is a pain in the ass. Even the drycleaner refuses to iron all the pleats in. So I look to the skirt as an opportunity to work out my obsessive-compulsive disorders. I think, ah, instead of picking at my skin, at my pimples, at my nails, I can spend all summer ironing the pleats into my skirt.
I ironed all the pleats in in less than an afternoon.
Now I am faced with a whole summer of picking and pacing, folding and unfolding my skin, my organs, my sanity.
I need to dance.