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.

How I Know I'm Getting Older

Warning: Grossly honest material ahead. Not intended for the faint of heart.

1. I've grown a small but disturbing cyst on my nose. If you know me, please don't look at it. Or don't let me catch you looking at it.

2. I've grown a not so small and more disturbing mole on my left forearm. I know it is noticeable because a 3 year old who does not belong to me was rubbing it the other day.

3. Parts of my body just "go out" for no reason at all and refuse to take me with them. Particularly my neck and hip.

4. I now have to trim my eyebrows and my nose hairs religiously.

5. And if I did not remove the blond but thick hair on my upper lip, I am sure I could grow a fu-man-shu...but apparently I can not spell it.

6. But here's how I really know I'm getting old:

Logan: (looking in the mirror while I am getting ready in the morning.) I'm lucky. I have pretty youngish skin. (Then looking up at me and pausing for just for a moment before saying...) Yours is kind of oldish.