I'm feeling the urge to paint again. I swear paint fumes give off some secret crack that compels me, knees and shoulders screaming in resistance, to repaint just one. more. time. I see no problem with the fact that I have repainted some rooms in this house three times in the three years we have lived here, because I blame blogging. Looking at a zillion gorgeous images a day fills my head full of dancing sugarplum dreams, and just when I think I'm a fully recovered paintaholic, something will come along and spark up the old addiction. Ah, I love the smell of fresh paint in the morning.
Well, let me tell you what color I am not going to paint my walls.
Ok, so actually this house is amazing... but that paint color! It looks like my mom's lipstick from 1983.
It's a color that loves naked lady butt cleave.
It's a color that invites Demons to bed.
But then I look around and I think, Damn this house be fine.
I really like the colors that go with that other, weirder color. And what the hell color is it, anyway? Mauve?
I try to keep an open mind about decor. I consider myself to be an eternal student of everything, because people who think they know it all are doomed to turn into boring old fossils incapable of growth and change. Not that I feel strongly about that or anything. (And not that I actually think I know anything.)
Point is, sometimes that open mind can get me into trouble. Sure, I have things I know I always like. But sometimes things I think I hate surprise me into becoming things I love.
Can you tell that paint color is starting to confuse me? I plan to adjourn to my cracky ultra addictive but incredibly delicious (if only it were laced with paint fumes!) coffee to sort this issue out. Feel free to join me if you'd like.