Procrastination

I'm supposed to be running out the door right now. I need more paint and rollers to finish my bedroom painting project. It is becoming the color I've missed since we moved to Edenton: a mixture between a stormy Atlantic Sea blue and pewter gray. It may seem insignificant, but waking in the morning to this color as a backdrop to my belongings is like a whisper as opposed to that intrusive whine of an alarm. It really does make me smile right after I crack my lids. And when I lay me down to sleep... there it is again, soothing me like a lullaby. You may think I'm silly about it, but color means so very much in my world. I mean, thank God the grass is green and the sky is blue, ya know! Thank God for the clouds being powder white and not a murky, dusty hue.
When I was young-er I pondered this color concept quite a bit. I wondered if we all saw the exact same color, or if we simply identified them as the same color by label only. All someone had to do when we were growing up is point to a color and say "blue" and that's what we have known as blue. What if it looks different to someone else's eyes? Is the color the same? Or, is our label the same? Then came the question of beauty. Do we see blue as beautiful and green as refreshing because we live amongst these colors and they represent clear skies and spring's renewal? I mean, is it truly beautiful in its own right, alone from our attachments to what it represents? This is like the question of beauty being innate or learned. Symmetry seems to be attractive to everyone world wide, but it is obvious that versions of beauty vary between times and cultures. I'm sure there are extensive studies regarding these topics.
It is interesting, no?
Nick looked at me last night as he hurdled a mountain of my clothes (and other stuff) and hopped into our bed that sits between still-wet walls and remarked "The house is a wreck and you've lost 2 million brain cells in these fumes... but the walls are gray!" That was funny. So, I couldn't even get mad at him for mumbling about my piles, because from his point of view that is exactly what the situation looks like. I've made him move furniture the size of elephants. Not only are they heavy enough to make professional movers cuss, but the drawers in them were full, and Nick was standing there looking at them all by his lonesome. But, he did it. I couldn't believe it; but he actually moved that furniture all alone and then kissed me bye. I felt that surely he'd at least skip the kiss. Love. It not only moves mountains, it moves two-ton armoirs too. I think he has a different take on what the color of our walls is worth, but deep down he appreciates living in a cared for, personalized, soothing space. Who wouldn't prefer that? Ugly bedroom doesn't equal macho.
Not only do I need more paint supplies, I need Benedryl tablets for my poor, poor Selma Lu Mela. She has turned into an itchy mess here in North Carolina. Apparently many doggies are allergic to this region. It breaks my heart. She is constantly fighting the urge to scratch her little ear flaps and eyes raw. Now her lips are itching. Nothing the vet has suggested works so far, so I'm going the people route. The pharmacist recommended a certain amount of Benedryl for a 50 pound dog and I'm going with it. I hate giving her drugs, but her quality of life is suffering. She, sweet thing, actually stops scratching her ears when I tell her to stop. How incredibly mindful. I say "Quit scratching those pretty ears Selma Lu!" and she stops and I can tell it's killing her. But, if I don't watch her, she'll tear her ears to pieces. She rests in her room in a cone hat right now. Miserable, I tell you. It makes me miserable anyway. She sticks her cute face through the cone without hesitation to get a kiss on the other side. So, I'm out to find another solution in hopes it will be the ticket to happy, itch-free puppy days. Any suggestions welcome. I honestly don't know what else to try if this doesn't work. I have exhausted most options.
What inspired me to communicate all of this, I'm not sure. One minute I'm walking toward the door and the next thing I know my hiney is parked here in this chair and I'm writing about what I should be doing instead of doing what I should be doing. The urge overcame me. Which makes me somewhat of a dork considering that I succumb to writing and others have much cooler vices like booze. Maybe it is knowing that I should be doing something else besides writing that makes me drawn to the action of writing. It is, after all, not what I should be doing and I have always hated doing things I should do over what I want to do. Should. What an awful word. Could. Want to. How amazing is it that the difference in a word or two can change one's entire attitude toward a subject/task? But, that's a whole other thought voyage. It is also quite possible that I am sitting here plucking my keyboard because I simply like it and have missed doing it.
Enough for today though, if there is anything I like more than writing, and the list is slim, it is my little Lu Bear's ear flaps. Crossing fingers it works.