FREAKY AND BLUE

So let’s say you spend the day freezing and with a fever and you have to face various work dramas anyway.  Imagine that you’ve run out of kleenex and meds and you’ve scratched the edge of your drippy nose from using too many rough paper towels.  Remember that you also haven’t slept well in a long time.   When you finally get home, you know you have to:

     a.  order in some creamy pasta with chicken soup and apple pie 

     b.  close the window shades and go to bed

     c. paint your laundry room blue

This is how I know I am not a normal human being. 

There are the obvious choices and then there’s my freaky way.  My knees are shaking from exhaustion and yet I find myself on a step ladder, painting the wall a pretty, watercolor blue, with a touch of aqua like the shade of the sea in my header photo.  

Why I feel compelled to do this, now, I have no idea.

Maybe it’s a high from antihistamines. 

When I was four or five, I told my parents, “I want to be a painter.”  They were thrilled at the thought that they might have a young Raphael or Michaelangelo on their hands.   Until my curious father asked, “So what will you paint?”  And I gleefully answered, “Houses!  And walls of houses!!!”  They still remember how hard they laughed.

But I was serious!

Painting for me is therapeutic.  It’s like washing away the sins of the past. 

I should have done some things better today. 

So I’m writing over my failures with watercolor blue.