Orange

I painted my room orange. Now everything is truly surreal. This room has looked the same since I moved into it at age 8, in 1991. Along with the loss of everything else concrete in life, now the homeplace becomes foreign. The color's nice and everything (I picked it, I painted it), but the space no longer bears any resemblance to the comforting refuge of childhood. In that sense I suppose this is a proxy for life change, sort of like when girls cut their hair off after a bad breakup.