Hello friends,
When I was a junior in high school, my dad got divorced for the second time. He and the woman who’d been my stepmom for the previous four years decided things weren’t working out. I was devastated, and then I wasn’t. That’s a different story for another time.
My dad, brother, and I moved into a new house after the split. My new room was smaller than my old one, but it felt cozier. My stepmom’s house was huge, so we moved in when she and my dad married. That place always felt like her domain, though. That bedroom belonged to my step-sisters before I took it over. They got the old guest bedroom. My brother got the office in the back of the house. This new bedroom, though, belonged only to me.
Of course, that isn’t entirely true. Before I moved in, my room was someone else’s. Based on the paint, I’m guessing that someone was a child. The walls were saturated cobalt blue, while the ceiling was primary yellow. That yellow also wrapped around the middle of the room between the two chair rails. The small north-facing window's lack of natural light made the paint seem much louder. Evidence of old wallpaper lingered around the chair rails like the bits left behind from a particularly sticky seal on a new jug of sugar. Picture nail holes were also scattered about the room. In some cases, the nails themselves remained, hammered too far into the wall to be easily extracted.
I wanted to repaint my new room as soon as I moved in, but I was busy with all the things a high school junior/senior is busy with. Then I was in college for four years in a city three hours away. When I moved back in with my dad, I finally resolved to paint the walls, but I wasn’t there long enough. I lived in Israel for half a year before returning home once more. Again, one of the first things I wanted to do was paint. But then I got sick, and nearly five years passed while I learned how my new body worked.
Now, though, I feel settled and content in a way I haven’t in maybe forever. Painting the walls was precisely the type of mundane busy work I’d come to enjoy since my brain became a little slower. I did the prep work in stages. First, I took down the fish mobile I’ve had since childhood. My parents got it from some kitschy shop in the mountains of North Carolina way back when I was obsessed with underwater life. I never stopped loving that mobile, and I still enjoy watching the many colorful fish spin slowly in the fan’s breeze. A few days later, I filled the hole left by the ceiling hook with spackle. A few days after that, I sanded down the dried putty. Then, I waited for a day when my battery felt full enough to paint.
About a month later, that day came. I gathered my supplies, wiped down the ceiling with a wet washcloth, and went to work. It took me two days to apply primer and two coats of warm white paint called Harvest Moon. I lost myself in the repetitive brush strokes. The sticky sound of the roller moving back and forth lulled me into a steady rhythm. I could not only see but hear and feel when I needed more paint. Gradually, the yellow disappeared and was replaced with a soft white I could lose myself in. My muscles hurt in places I wasn’t even aware of, but I was satisfied.
I still have to paint the walls, but the great thing about doing the ceiling first is that I didn’t have to tape off the walls. I brushed and rolled with reckless abandon, leaving white streaks and blobs along the soon-to-be-covered blue of the walls. I cared not for the sharp boundaries of the corners and edges. When I finished, I lay down on my bed and observed my personal harvest moon, but my eyes were drawn to the mess just below. Some of the errant brush strokes landed in the shape of a penis. I don’t care how old you are; things unexpectedly shaped like penises will always be funny. I laughed, and then I let my eyes roam a bit more. I wanted to see what else I could find, like pointing out creatures in the clouds. What follows is an incomplete list of the shapes seen in the ceiling paint:
Penis
Bob Ross’s hair
Full moon
Gibbous moon
Professor Quirrell wearing his turban
Crescent moon
Banana (different from the crescent moon)
Upside-down pomegranate
Upside-down Mr. Krabs
Guitar pick
Johnny Bravo’s hair
Slimer from Ghostbusters
A singular macaroni noodle
Kayak paddle
A surfer catching a wave
Stormtrooper helmet
Upside-down snail
Part of me is a little sad that the shapes won’t remain. Bob Ross’s hair, in particular, makes me smile. I think he’d appreciate accidentally showing up in some paint. Luckily for him, I need time to recover my strength before taking on the walls.
Until next time,
Yardena
Weekend Potpourri
Currently on repeat
Thanks for reading. This edition of Letters on Being is free, but if you feel like giving me extra support, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Also, when was the last time you saw something that wasn’t a penis shaped like a penis?
Absolutely delightful!
Love this as I do all your writing.