I do not do well with gray skies. What can I tell you, it’s just a thing. And sooner or later, I guess, I was destined to reach some breaking point. Because no matter how nicely it may rhyme, you cannot, in fact, wish the gray away.
And so today. Gray skies today.
I considered this new affront from my porch this morning. My mind said: I do not like it. My body said: yes, that.
I got into the car. I drove. As you do.
And then, somewhere along that intangible line that separates the two, body and mind, something snapped. A bone, you might say, of contention.
Consequently, on my way into work, I stopped in at Lowe’s, buying several gallons of sky-blue paint. I paid cash. Sometimes, you have to be definitive.
But not Carolina blue, mind you. Real sky blue. Let us not confuse our issues here.
Though in the interest of full disclosure, the paint was not actually called “Sky Blue” at all, but the frightfully evocative “Sky Delight,” like a pastiche of lines from some wretched ’70s AM radio hit, now available in all-weather acrylic.
Clearly, a person should not have to settle at such a consequential time, but what do you do? Gray skies vs. Sky Delight? I say slather your world all up in delight, in whatever form you find it. Because, y’know, what the hell, right?
Please do note that I was surprisingly calm throughout all of this. Sometimes we break pretty; sometimes we don’t.
And a quick word now to the unknowing: You cannot, it seems, actually paint the sky. There is just no there there. Try even touching the sky sometime. When you fail, remember that Jimi Hendrix was often high, something I should have maybe considered as well before embarking on this.
In my defense, it’s not like I could have trusted science to explain my misapprehensions to me in advance. We all have heard of late how science lies.
Hold a sopping paint brush above your head, repeatedly, in an effort to find some purchase there, even a dot from which to then connect, and … no. Just no. And there is, I have a bit too graphically learned, this little bitch of a thing called gravity. So let me just say that my own being sky-blue now is no substitute for broad atmospheric change; the sky above remains stalwart in its immediate attachment to its pallorous hue.
People have begun, however, to point at me, and laugh. It would seem I have at least improved the days of others. As my grandmother used to say, one of those wrinkled-person homilies from the Old Country I had always felt obligated to ignore:
One person’s sky is another’s vividly painted fool.
Who knew? Well, maybe you did. If so, please keep that to yourself. Because I am, it seems, way too blue now to deal with it …
<Post likes lost from original blogsite>
