14 I really ought to know myself better

Our conversation yesterday went much deeper than I would have wanted it to. I wondered why I thought about him and the essence which triggered those thoughts. I brainstormed for answers. He had provoked a renaissance from the depths of my mind, and my heart. I really ought to know myself better. I thought about him; the way his eyes pierced mine and his difficult questions. Propped up by my own fluffy pillow on my bed, I came to a realization that whilst I thought about him profoundly and deeply, I had wanted to understand myself better too. Stripped bare, all was left were the feeling of profoundness in the scenarios of the previous two nights. I replayed these over and over again. This realization confused me even more because I could not work out the solution from there.

It dawned upon me that my reaction was the one that needed fixing. It was how I felt which made me uncomfortable with it all. And how did I feel? I felt that he was glimpsing into my world and my thoughts. These were private.

The fifteen minute thinking about Mr. Boardmann session was up. I got out of bed with an agile leap and thus started my standard, official routine with a cup of coffee.

I have my own version of happily ever after now - at least with where I live. After six years in different parts of the continent, I moved back into this peaceful neighbourhood here, just ten kilometres away from the heart of the suburb where the fancy restaurants were. I have a spacious, single-storied cottage house with an equally huge garden. There were endless possibilities with what I could do with it. But just like Mr. Boardmann who had not gotten round to learning to play the piano, I had not done anything other than get a bed for myself and the basic furniture I needed.

I had all these vague ideas in my head of what I would like, but I did not precisely know what I wanted. I only knew what I did not like. From there I made my deductions. Apart from obvious standard stuff which was still missing such as the television, I knew one thing for sure- I wanted a piano in the house. There was enough space for it. It did not matter if my fingers were as stiff as rocks or if I were the world's greatest pianist. I wanted it white. It would shine like pearls and match my moonstone. The piano and moonstone would be my jewellery set. I had no love for jewellery which women wore. I thought that they were unnecessary weight and a distraction to the face. The moonstone necklace was the only jewellery I wore.

I concentrated my attention to the corner of the wall which I had already repainted. I had replaced the original white with a dark shade of lilac at the base of the wall, just above the marble floor. Then I had mixed the same shade with white to produce a lighter shade of lilac. From there, I kept on adding white until I reached right to the top of the wall. Where it touched the ceiling, the shade of lilac was pale and almost all white. I like to see the shades blend in together seamlessly to the extent where you cannot tell where one shade ends and the other begins. It was the swirls of movement upwards which I wanted to see. I felt at peace when I looked at the repainted walls.

I had intended to paint all the walls in the house; time being no constraint for me, for I generally spent my time at home during the day. Initially my fear of heights had prevented me from starting. For the first attempt, I had climbed the ladder although I was terribly afraid of falling down. While I was painting, I managed to forget about my fear because I was engrossed in creating swirls. Blending colours were really soothing! Feeling pretty satisfied with my work, I had tripped and sprained my ankle before touching ground because my attention was only on the walls. Luckily I was already almost down the ladder, and I did not fall from too high a height. However this incident had made me afraid of using the ladder once more. Once bitten, twice shy.

I was not one to take risks, especially if I had failed the first time. Therefore I had contacted painters after my fall. The three painters which have come and gone in the past two months said that it was too much of a hassle and too time-consuming for them to paint like that. Having declined my raised offer, they suggested that I get professional artists to do the painting. I had contacted a few artists from the area. They had informed me that it was not art, whatever I was doing. They told me to hire painters instead.

The artists and the painters had set me on a roller-coaster ride. I got quite tired with their excuses. To me, it was a simple paint job. Anyone could do it. I could have done so if I had not fallen down the ladder, igniting my own fear of heights again. About one week ago, I had sent an e-mail to the first company again, doubling my offer. I had yet to hear from them. Patience was a forced virtue in my case. The ball was rolling on their court and I was the desperate potential customer.