there is a man in the door; he is me

There’s a man in my door; he is me.

He blocks me when I go and he blocks me when I stay. He is dense. He is amorphous. Push him and he spreads, wall to wall and moves not at all. His body blocks the light, his face just a shadow, but I can see. I see he is me.

And Spotify hums, “Don’t stand in the doorway, /
Don’t block up the hall.”

I open my notebook and my computer and talk on my phone and read my novel and my other novel and eye my three screens and there is a knock, another knock on my office door.

I am raging: This kid needs a ride, my cell phone hides, the dogs lick my eyes and my hands, the cat curls in my lap in a superman pose, the smoke alarm blares (the oven can’t get above 355), and can’t you just run by the CVS?

A man fills my doorway and I can see he is ADHD and I know he is me.

White noise envelops me and I can’t get out of my own way.

– Tom Sakell

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