The place where I temp has these big glass doors that only open one way. I have lost track of how many times I have bonked into them trying to open them the wrong way. After much thought, I came up with a litany to help the situation. It is either push or pull. You come before you leave. "L" comes before "s," so pull to come and push to leave.

I wrote the litany down and carried it with me for over a month. Now that I have it memorized, I start reciting it as I approach the doors, hoping against hope that I might successfully open them.

Even with my litany, I would say that I find that success only about two-thirds of the time.

I cannot help but think that it shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't battle opening doors. I shouldn't approach them with fear and trepidation when others are around to witness my utter cognitive ineptitude. I should be able to breeze through them as does everyone else in the office.

Sometimes...sometimes I almost hate those doors. I hate them for how clearly they expose how much I have lost, how much I struggle to navigate what should be simple, and how very different I am because of the disease that plays itself out in my life in so many cruel ways.