Apparently choosing a colour requires some sort of emotional intelligence that I do not possess. There. I have admitted it to myself. All those years of thinking I was a normal, stable person! It’s so depressing -I may need two things of Haagen Daaz.
So the whole painting situation begins with me going with the worst shopping companion EVER to pick paint. I thought I knew what I wanted – a light and cool colour scheme, but then changed my mind deciding to go for warmer colours. For those of you who have been paint shopping you can attest to the fact that there are thousands of paint colours to choose from. Seriously for a simple colour like red you can find at least 20 different shades. So with Jazz huffing and puffing behind me I tried to decide what colours I wanted. 45 mintues later it was obvious I had developped some kind of colour dyslexia and which point Jazz turned into her alter ego Sasha ( who scares the living daylights out of me), and I had to choose a colour fast or risk losing a limb. So I decided on a Parisian Taupe with White for the trim. Light colours because the room was small, but still warm.
Home. Heart palpitations begin because I am not sure anymore about the colour.
24 hours later most of the room is done. I have done a fabulous job but the colour is not turning out. The paint is still wet so I am not going to scream yet about how it looks like freaking BEIGE and not no Parisan Taupe!
Paint dries and it is a latte colour. Which is fancy for beige. I decide I need a bold colour for an accent wall because the thought that I am a person who would choose however subconsciously to paint their living room beige is enough to make me want to take up drinking. Jazz and I go back to the store and look at colours. Again the dyslexia, Sasha’s rage, my indecisiveness combine to make me go with an Iced Espresso.
Home. Iced Espresso applied to walls looks like well…brown on a wall. I mean the colour’s nice, it matched the damn latte very well but oh my good lord – there was something about that wall that made me incredibly angry. And then after a whole day of looking at it I got suicidal. I moved my couch to the middle of the room facing away from the wall and I tried to tell myself that it was nice, that I did a beautiful paint job, that I wasn’t a moron, that it matched, that I wasn’t the most horrible decorator in the entire universe. It didn’t work. The brown seemed to be laughing at me…it’s the kind of colour that takes over your mind. Everytime I got up and saw it I hated it more and more. It got to be quite irrational really. I mean who talks to a colour? Then Del saved me by coming over and dragging me out for Thai food and promising me we could go couch shopping tomorrow. She also assured me that she still loves me even though I suck at decision making.
So now I need to decide what to do. Do I prime over the brown and paint it the same as the rest of the room? Do I choose another colour and hope I don’t hate it too? I am going back and forth trying to decide. I’ve decided to keep with the latte/beige/parisian taupe because there is no way I am painting the entire room again. My whole body was killing me afterwards and I had blisters on my hands from all the work. So that colour definitely stays. It’s that bloody accent wall that’s driving me nuts. All I know is it’s either me or that brown. I am not going home until I have a can of paint in my hands. I’ve always like orange…or red. Or maybe I should just redo the whole room in a new scheme.
Symptomatic of my life…indecisive, can’t commit, and deep down underneath all the bs someone who likes beige. I deserve to eat vanilla ice cream for the rest of my life.