I would never have expected it but either by some windy jealousy or subconscious thoughtlessness my door is more closed than before.  The word to appropriately describe the shape of my right-hand or passenger-side bedknob is spheroid like what the world injects itself with to be able to spin so fast.  If my bedpost is the world, the hallway closet is definitley a distant sun that my bedknob longs to revolve around but the one thing bigger than either of them is the palpable cruelty of the door eclipsing them both.  The ridges leading up to the orby hunk seem like the grooves of a termite watermelon eating contest or the pathway of an impatient father-to-be.  One way or another, this is going to need to be tampered with.  I do not think my hallway closet door will stand for such scrutiny without eventually intervening and revealing its innards.  Perhaps, both more modest and coy than I had given it credit.  A wooden tease.  There is nothing coy about Orby, the orby hunk, but maybe I just have no taste.