life is this revolving door. no, life is like going through this revolving door that you can never get out of, and it can be fun, if you make it fun, but more than anything you kind of just want to be out of it, but centrifugal forces or some obese security guard won't let you out, and for a while you do actually still want to be revolving in the revolving door, but then you get bored again, and you just want it to be done. humans, they want ends to things. I want to clean my place and be done cleaning, forever really, but it’s never done. it’s done but then next week it has to be cleaned again, though not till the week after that is when it will actually get cleaned, but nonetheless it has to be done again, and it’s just this revolving door that you can never get out of, and it can be fun, the parts that don’t remind you of a revolving door, but the parts that do, you just want them to be done.
did I mention (in a complete shift to non-simile, literal world) that I hate revolving doors? they stress me out and involve timing and quick, door-squash-avoiding movements and awkward staggering amongst moving groups. and do not get it wrong – I am not afraid of revolving doors; I just, more simply, dislike them. for their lack of contribution to society, really.
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