Every door is a choice. A choice to open the closet door or the linen closet. To open the kitchen door and take out the trash or open the door to the music office and get some reviewing done. I think there are entire horror movie genres about opening doors. Behind one the monster that will eat out your entrails. Behind another the option to be chased in your underwear through a snake-infested forest. Then there are the metaphysical, philosophical doors. Quitting a job is closing a door. Starting college again is opening one. But for now, I'm being literal. This is the knob to a door. My closet door, to be exact, Keeper of robes and jammies. Of jeans and boots. No monsters (unless you count the sweater I got from my mom for Christmas) but no model of fashion glory. Which is why the outside of the door is more attractive than the inside.
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