Sick of being surrounded by characterless, insanely dull off-white apartment walls, I have started to remodel my master bedroom over the past two weeks. This past evening, while finishing up the trim and repainting blotches of cheap plaster pulled up by blue painter’s tape, a combination of repetitive brush strokes, noxious interior satin latex fumes, and poor ventilation started to get to me. However, instead of passing out, getting a headache, or hallucinating like most normal people, I began thinking in metaphor.
Thanks to college, the army, college again, and an uncertain job market; I have never stayed in one particular area for much more than two years. Over the past decade and a half, I have lived in over twenty different locations worldwide. I often never bothered to make these places “my own,” or put down any other kind of roots because I knew that I would be moving on soon — a new city, new off-white walls, new acquaintances.
My heart (or whatever body part you want to use as my figurative emotional core) slowly became like these off-white walls. I shied away from forming any deep emotional bonds with anyone. On those rare occasions that I allowed myself the company of others, I may have appeared sociable on the outside, but I always remained detached, distant, blank.
It’s almost overwhelming, the liberating feeling that washes over you when you introduce color to a room. Entirely new possibilities open up. The walls seem to pulse with new-found energy. My life, so to speak, has also recently undergone the first stages of a major remodeling — attempting to repair things that were broken, installing windows to let some light in, reintroducing a little color, and so on. Unfortunately, with life you cannot always control the colors that are introduced; it seems a little heartache always seems to get into the mix. I’m really starting to like, however, how the room is turning out.
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