Green

My bedroom is green. It is also half the size it used to be.

My house is kind of like a circus. Teal, bright green, dark green, light green, grey, light yellow, canary yellow, dark red, tan... and white on the ceilings. I suppose the colors fit my family, though. We're a bit out there, a bit insane, but still have the common sense to keep the ceilings white. I like the canary yellow kitchen for my mom because she is always laughing. I like the light green in my bedroom because I've gotten much calmer than I used to be, and sometimes like to think I'm pretty. I don't understand the teal in Mike's room; but then, I don't really understand Mike all that much, so I guess it fits.

Talking about all this color, I think it would be very sad to be color blind. Or blind at all, really. But then, I suppose I would notice other things, like smells and sounds and touches, and still be able to associate them with different family members. And it would be more difficult to be racist.

My mind is kind of like a circus right now, too. It reminds me of the stacks of books and papers and binders scattered on the floor waiting for me to buy new shelves--disorganized, chaotic. I should have thrown away some of that stuff a long time ago, but for whatever reason, I like to save certain things. What if I need it later? I'll keep it jumbled up in the grey matter for a little longer. And I'm not sure that thoughts can actually be consciously thrown away. Usually I'm either happily remembering, or cursing and wanting to forget but finding myself incapable of doing so--I've never really considered whether or not it's possible to rethink a thought that's been successfully disposed of.

It's like this little blister slash cut on my finger that would heal if I didn't keep picking at it. But I keep picking anyway--maybe I want it there. Maybe it fits perfectly. Maybe it matches the paint under my fingernails but I'm too concerned about the color of things to notice.