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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

the colour of Marigolds

I've always loved colour. This love affair was never fraught with disagreements or ove of one over another. Oh no. All were equally beautiful, in my mind. Even the sludge green colour had it's place.

But I've not always made good decisions with colour. Namely, painting rooms and such. One good decision was a mushroom/taupe colour I had once painted in the living room of a house I owned last year. I loved that colour. It went with everything, it felt classy and slick at the same time. Timeless, was the word I was looking for.

When I moved into my current place of residence, I had no issues with the colours of the rooms either way. Ok, maybe the Thalo blue colour of the 'bedroom' (which I use as an office) is a bit....boring. Cold, maybe. Too damn blue, absolutely. The room I actually use for sleep is a chocolate brown (a colour in a room I have always coveted), the living room is a darkish sage green. The entry way is an understated yellow. The kitchen WAS grey, as are the hallways. All the trim is white.

So what do I do? I decide to paint the kitchen, which let me tell you is no easy feat. This particular room has things I need to get around in order to get to the wall, the cabinets are odd in the way that they don't have doors and ar also placed a bit higher than normal. That could be because the ceilings are about 16 feet. So, maybe arduous is the word I am looking for. It was an arduous task to repaint the kitchen.

Having said that, the kitchen is now the colour of marigolds. The orange ones. Very orange in here. So orange in fact, I wonder if I misjudged my love for this particular shade for this particular room. OR, it could be that I am actually the worst house painter on the face of this earth. That could be why I am not really liking the kitchen right now. Eventually, I will post photos, but I'm just so ashamed right now. And I've left my camera at my sister's again.

On second thought, it kind of looks nice with the lights out. In all fairness, I've been living with half painted walls for a couple of weeks because of the lack of a ladder to reach the last foor of the ceiling way up there. Now that I have been abe to do that, I look around and see my mistakes (yes, splodges of paint on trim and such where there oughn't be orange) and some on the ceiling. Fixable, with the can of white paint I actually had the forethought to buy.

Well, I wanted a warm room. A room I would feel welcome in. One that could be rustic in that adobe/mexican way that would allow for the all that romanticism to seep in through my skin so I can write something lovely and lucrative. *grin*

So, I guess we'll see what's what in the daylight.

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