My door is speaking to me. It’s practically haunting me.
It’s begging me to fix it.
Back in January there was an “incident” with the door… I slammed it while very maturely storming into the house from the garage after being extreemely right in an argument. Hence the slam, intended as a visual exclaimation point to my final statement of rightness. The problem was, the deadbolt lock was open, so the slam didn’t have quite the effect I was hoping for. Instead, it broke the door, the lock, and the doorframe. (So, I have a temper. And I’m strong.)
Six months later, here I am still with a broken door.
At first, I had gained an odd appreciation for the broken door because it was a daily reminder that thou shalt communicate in a more effective way and not throw tantrums like a spoiled child. But as time moved along, as did the very wrong person during that incident, I got lazy and never fixed it.
So, the door begs me to fix it – and this week, I will.
When I get done, this door won’t know what hit it. I can do this. I’ll keep you posted!!