Quote:
Originally Posted by DixieGal
...... But lo! My muse awakes and inspires me to use the mounds of paper and a roll of duct tape to cover the fuschia walls. Heedless of my rental deposit agreement and landlord, I began toiling to cover the offending walls, toiling and taping, perspiring and papering. At last my muse releases me and I gaze in wonder at my new black and white walls, black printing blurring from a distance into a smudgy pattern that was simple yet pleasing to the eye.
Tis then I chanced to glance into the hallway, and again my mind reeled and raled against the fuschia wallpaper. All of one's soul was reviled and melancholy ensued. "By gawd's bladder, I have it!", I exclaimed to myself, "I can print more papers and tape them onto the hallway walls, in much the same manner that I covered the bedroom walls." And thus it was made so.
Whereupon, I remembered the mauve walls in the middle bedroom. Not wishing to be caught undecorated, I knew.......
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The anguish of that realization sent my mind reeling again. Fuschia, mauve, olive, beige - it didn't matter. They all inflicted unbearable pain on the folds of my brain. I could hardly withstand the variations in the greys of December - the filthy grey streets spewing from the mouths of offending buildings cloaked by grey skies. That was pain enough. But it could be withstood if life itself needed to be withstood. It's the augmentation of things detected with the unnecessary and vulgar sensations of texture and color that caused me the greatest pain. The sharp contrast of black and white created by the floor tiles at the train station was particularly cruel - it cut like a knife at every glance. But color - god forbid - color brought pain that was simply intolerable. All my synapses choked with the offending information. Eyeing the mauve walls in the middle bedroom was like being strangled with a garotte. I was a prostitute in the hands of Jack the Ripper and prayed for the end to come quickly.