Color Me Blue

So here's the delio:  I'm in a funk.  I'm a little blue.  A little bummed.  A little down.  I'm hating things.  Lots of things.  Like my hair, my clothes, the paint on my walls.  But, oh, the paint.  The paint on my walls is really, really bugging me.  I've become a little obsessive.  I can't quit looking at it and hating it.  I'm feeling suffocated by the paint.  I've been waiting to see if that would change along with my funk because I know the funk will not last.  But so far, I'm still hating the paint. 

I don't want to hate the paint because that will mean me painting.  And I really don't want to do that.  Again.  And so I was waiting, for a sign, maybe.

It came yesterday at the dentist's office.  First of all, both my kiddos have no cavitities.  But that wasn't the sign.  No, that was just really good news.  The sign was the color of the walls.  I think they spoke to me.  And so I spoke to the dentist and asked him what color they were.  Luckily, he is a friend.  Well, the husband of a friend.  But he still looked at me a little weirdly.  But I wasn't kidding--to the extent that he had to go in the back and check out the cans of leftover paint.  He wrote it down, and that little piece of paper is tucked tightly inside my purse...

...waiting, along with me, to see if it this too shall pass.