Every time I walk toward a door, I half-expect it to slam right in my face. Not cynically, though, but realistically, and with a smile. Because when I get up there and it shuts, leaving me stranded, I know I'm not really stranded. There's nothing stopping me from going around, walking through the next door in line with the same smirk and saunter.
I like a life where I can afford to procrastinate a little, where I can wear t-shirts and stay out after dark and not freeze. Such worlds are short-lived and will be gone the next time I blink. I know they will be back, though.
In other news, I've been showing many symptoms of robot-itis. No cure for that, though, none that I can come up with. It's a two-sided disease of chemical back-flips and things of that nature. No pill for that.