I was planning to paint today. That was before it started to rain, and I hear that tomorrow isn’t going to be much better. I was planning on repainting my room. It is now pink and I want it to be the color of wheat bread.
Some people knit, some people race vehicles, I paint. My house has had dozens of different colors in it. I have had pink and green, and yellow, and blue and brown, and even black and white on my walls. It’s therapeutic, just don’t ask me why.
My significant other hates painting. For him it isn’t therapy. Painting is probably the the thing that will drive us as a couple into seeking therapy. But let’s be fair, I don’t ask him to paint! I can’t help it if I yearn for comforting colors. Is it my fault that he finds me standing in front of a blank wall chewing on my fingernail while imagining the room in a different shade?
I can imagine our conversation…he’ll start by saying something like ” What color do you want this time?” in a very morose tone.
And I’ll say “I’m just thinking, let a person think, we don’t have to paint it again…although, you know we haven’t painted this room in a while.”
“I’ll paint, I know how you hate it.”
“You want blue? I’ll get blue.”
“Why would I want blue, it’s already blue!”
“What color do you want then?”
” I was thinking of something toasty.”
“Toasty won’t work.”
“What do you mean it won’t work, it’s a fine color.”
“We already painted it brown once, before it was pink.”
“That was when the girls had this room, now they are in the other room and um, guess what? That room is purple and they don’t both like purple.”
“For which room?”
“I have to go clean the garage.”