Should I paint the door?

It feels as if I spent the whole day on my knees. I guess some would say I’m blessed from spending such a day in reverence fore the throne, alas I have to say that I was painting floors. The toilet floor no less.

And while I’m painting black abyss it hooves me, neigh moves me thus. My thoughts in turmoil searching harmony and Zen in this, my barren floor of black.

Once a while I deem it worth my self-esteem to shout and interrupt myself to ask, who paints a toilet floor the color of the night?

But blinded by the genius of, hey that was myself, the cosmos open up. Here I magine twinkling stars while in the corner there you see a whirling galaxy and there, right between that constellation there, awash with blue and red, no wait a rainbow full of winking stars we see a nebula arise out from the cold dark floor.

I wonder, should I paint the door?