I won’t comment on the weather. It’s raining now, but I can’t remember about the rest of the week. Other than editing, and waiting for some more editing coming my way, I spent the last seven days working on the lecture. I’ve been recording myself and I have mixed feelings about my performance. I tend to eat words a lot and I haven’t been able to recite the whole speech without humming and hemming between one slide and the next. Yesterday, I stopped making any sense after the seventh try. Also, after a spell of insomnia, I decided to avoid coffee for a week and see what happens. First day of the experiment. So far, I’ve tried to put clean dishes in the fridge, ate
three five times what I would have any other day, and I have a huge headache. Also, I took a break from writing this post to go downstairs and eat some more…
From All the Rainbow’s Colors,
My day ends as it started, with my nose against the cold window’s panel. The apartments in the building complex in front of mine are all illuminated. The lady in pink hasn’t come home yet, but there is a man I’ve never seen in her living room. He’s arranging long stemmed red roses in a tall vase. The man is so pink he’s almost red like the roses. Who knows what it feels to be that shade of pink? I have no clues.
In the next apartment, a family of five, mother, dad, and three small kids, is preparing for the usual reading time ritual before bed. Every night, the father tucks the kids in their tiny beds, and read a tale from the same old, battered book. He must know every word of that book by heart. He smiles, always. The man is lucky, because he’s not cursed like me. He doesn’t see that his youngest child has the same green shade of his mom, but his orange comes from a family friend, who visits the house a lot. And so the dad is happy.
I am forced to know. Since it started, two years ago, people’s feelings are no secret to me. And what it makes this whole situation even worse is that I can’t do without colors. Literally. I hate them, and I can’t survive without them.