There are times when we have to deal with IT knocking at the door and, to put it mildly, we are not looking our best.
On this particular rainy morning I was swimming through the dregs of a dream where the sea had swept into town and all of the streets were fast going under. The waves carried a painful, persistent knocking sound which some part of my brain sifted, separated from the dream and went about sending an immediate, shocking alarm call to the layers of my mind that weren't completely submerged in the depths that were very cold and blue.
Wake up! Wake up now! That knocking noise isn't part of your dream. The knocking is real and it's coming from your very own front door...
Like a crack commando, instantly ready for anything, I sprang from my bed and fell over the cat with military precision. Cursing, the cat swirling in all directions like water spinning down a plug-hole, I grabbed my bathrobe and headed for the stairs. Somehow I managed to stub my toe on the way, a four letter expletive threatening to burst through my lips.
I pulled my bathrobe tighter and, despite the pain in my toe, remembered George Orwell.