Monday, May 16, 2011

steps and painting

Hi there,

  I haven't been blogging for a while, and I'm sorry. There has just been so many things going on, then I had to go through a phase of re-finding myself, which was a little hard for me and if I were to write then, it would have been only an intangible mess of all the thoughts that were spiralling out of control in my head which only I could understand. Or perhaps, I couldn't either, because I was just not really myself then.

  But anyway, life's a process, and things like this will usually make you learn. And I've walked out of that in-exhaustisble circle of thoughts, which was worry that never brings any good. (I did wonder why I kept doing that and I'd given myself the reason that it was because I cared -because I think I was mostly thinking about others' problems. But then the problems never even last, and you'd look back puzzledly thinking what in the world had you wasted your time on.)

Have your adventures, make you mistakes, and choose your friends poorly - all these make for great stories.
-Chuck Palahniuk

  Sometimes, because of the books and stuff I've read, I have probably sort of deluded myself into thinking that those were my actual experiences. It was only listening to my friends relating their own stories to us, that it made me realise how much of my 'experience' was actually read up. It's not saying that I do not have my own experiences, it's just that maybe I usually play the role of the 'good girl', doing the 'right thing' most of the time, that has made things seem this way?

  But also, this doesn't mean that I can't learn. Maybe also it was because from reading that I learned, and thus, avoided making those mistakes?
Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself.
-Eleanor Roosevelt 

  I digress. Let me tell you a small story.

  I was sitting at this very same table, having my breakfast this morning, when an unusually loud thud at my room door startled me. For a moment, I wondered if it could possible have been the wind, but I got up and went to to the door anyway.

  I opened the door to the back of a vaguely familiar man. He turned around at the sound, and I saw that it was the guy who had come to change my bathroom door the last time -well, he didn't change it then. He took some measurements and left, promising to return but without leaving a date.

  It wasn't perfect timing, I had to leave early today and right then, I had not changed. But I needed a new door, as the old one wouldn't shut properly, which thus always left a huge gap by which I had tried to ignore whenever I used the toilet. It was crazy. The plughole in the shower had once been clogged up, which caused the entire bathroom to flood whenever I took a bath. This unwanted collection of water expanded the wood fibres beneath the door, therefore, the reason for the door getting stuck most of the time.

  I asked if he could return in fifteen minutes, and within that quarter bit of the clock, I hurried through my morning routine -which usually takes much longer than that.

  I would be boring you with all these unnecessary little details, so to cut the story short, I can now say that I've got a new swinging door. It is still in its bare wooden form though, instead of the dull grey colour the previous one had been. That guy told me that someone else would come and paint it another day. Good lord, thinking about that, I hope that whoever that person is, they'd better not drip paint on my carpet. I had just vacuumed my room last night -unaware of the 'event' that was going to take place today morning- and the door had to come and drop off little chippings on my (presumably) dust-free carpet. I also realised that the guy had left some really huge screws on my window sill -which I have no comment for. They might come useful for something, or maybe I could even sell them on ebay and earn some pocket money. Kidding!

  I was sitting on my bed this afternoon just before I took a nap, staring at the new naked door. I wondered if I could've, should've, asked the guy if I could paint it myself.

  There was something beautiful about a wooden door. And if I were to paint it, I would trace all the swirls and paint the grains all a different colour.

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