The Revolving Door

I love fancy hotels... the kind with big tall beds and soft pillows and comforters that are so heavy you can't hardly sleep under them. (Not that I get to stay in them much... I can count on one hand the times I've stayed in a "fancy" hotel.  But my dream job just may be 1. to review hotels and 2. to review books and get paid and 3. to review chocolate cake while reading books in those hotels).

Anyway, every fancy hotel has a bellhop... if that's the right term. You know, to open the door and help you with your luggage and to make sure you get your car back from valet parking (again, not that I use valet parking much... if ever...)

I like it when the bellhop holds open the door because generally most fancy hotels have those revolving doors...

and y'all. I'm terrified of them.

I mean, I'll use them if I have to...

but I'm always afraid I'll get stuck in one. They make me slightly claustrophobic, especially when it's in a certain light and you can see yourself in the revolving door. You know, that shadow you get in a glass window where everything is distorted and even the skinniest part of your body looks like it has triple chins?

I mean, can you imagine being stuck staring at yourself like that, unable to push the door forward or to go backward?

Life feels kind of like that, sometimes. The door is heavy, and you feel stuck, even if you aren't.

We gotta just keep pushing, folks.

And pray there's a doorhop that can help us out.

This post is a part of a free write series about my story using prompts from Five Minute Friday. We write on one word for five minutes, unedited. Today's prompt? Door.