The Knock on the Door

It’s hard to answer the door, having to deal with company in a house built for one. But those moments when you pass the door and forget what you’re doing, and answer it without thinking – shit. Can I shut it? Is that too rude? Can I stop them at the doorstep and send them on their way? Or do I bring them in, offer them my favorite chair with the cracked pleather cushion, or my great big coffee mug with the little chip in it? What happens after I share them, when it's time for them to leave? How do I know they’ll give them back? And if they do, how could I ever use them again? They’d never be the same, and that scares the shit out of me – change. It always invites itself in without asking. But whether it gently knocks on the door or kicks it down, I know it's necessary. Is there any other way to keep moving?