Painting my kitchen.
My therapist says I should write about painting my kitchen.
The most boring topic I ever heard.
I can't think of a word.
Is he sadistic?
Assigning me chores I could never complete.
So I'll go ballistic.
Fail miserably and he'll see how I handle defeat.
Or he's being artistic.
Looking for clues in the colors I choose.
Am I painting it red?
Am I angry with someone who's stuck in my head but not in my bed?
Is it something he said?
A parental dilemma I get to resolve.
It's hard to believe I could
really evolve by mentally painting my kitchen.
Am I slathering on a deep blue?
Is that what
he expects me to do?
A truer blue than anyone I've ever loved has ever been true.
Would
he even care?
Or would he pocket my check with a pat on my cheek?
Ask me what time can
I make it next week?
Then mention deep blue's a reflection of utter despair.
Painting my
kitchen.
Am I painting it green?
He'd love it.
For all I clearly covet.
Your love or
your fame.
The rise in your stock.
Your timeshare in Spain.
The size of your cocktail ring.
Now enough of this color thing.
Why paint the kitchen?
Why not the bedroom?
It's such
a dead room lately.
A new paint job would greatly enhance it for the next horizontal
dance it may,
oh please I pray,
someday be the setting for.
If I thought I could speed
that up I'd be willing to paint the floor
with my tongue in the *** on network TV.
Meanwhile, back at the kitchen.
My therapist is sitting with his arms crossed.
He's looking stern.
He's wondering if I've finished my assignment and what I've learned.
I know he hopes for some dramatic breakthrough
to make him feel he's at a real effect.
So what the heck?
I tell him painting one's kitchen is more
than the psyche reflected in color selected.
At the risk of sounding a little strange,
I think it's about change.
It's not about dry paint,
but rather the process of applying it,
honoring each shade,
instead
of diluting or denying it,
one never completely covers over a color they always bleed through.
The most we can hope for is a livable blend of the old and the new.
Okay,
so I'm laying it on pretty thick,
but it seems to be doing the trick.
A beautiful cacophonous overlap of long sustaining notes.
Life is not a coat of many colors.
It's a color of many gods.
Do I really believe all this?
It's anyone's guess.
Does it win his approval?
Well, that's the important thing.
Yes!