Outside the Door

The construction workers, outside my door, are building something tangible. I was one once and I know that it is true. You see your work and you feel the pride. You know exactly what you did or didn't do. As I sit here constructing words and thoughts, I am never sure just where the joints will hold. Super glue, band aids, jury rigged, half-assed constructs, and all that I want is just one solid nail of truth to hold my joints together. Then, maybe, I can have as much pride inside the door, as I once had outside.