Crimson...

So I bought this really impractically coloured crimson sofa thing today. It doesn’t match a damn thing in the house but then nothing I own matches. I looked at the colour choices. Cream – nah, I’m always rushing, rushing, rushing and I spill things as I dash around. Brown – practical, matches things, it’s a grown up colour, and it makes sense. Nah. I don’t want any of that. Crimson. Impulsive, silly, crazy and I expect Wayne and Cheryl, my budgies, if they looked from their perch inside and saw it they would roll their eyes in horror yet at the same time be dead jealous. Crimson is the colour of madness, fools and silly buggers. It matches nothing. I’ll have it.

That then led to what to do with the two recliner chairs I have. They’re 15 years old – yes, I’m a keeper of things – and in good nick because my mother, bless her crimson toenails – always made sure as kids we understood we had to ‘look after things.’ So, I emailed a friend at work, I was at work too, but questions about recliner chairs are way more important than whatever it is they pay me for. He suggested selling them in a freebie classified that runs every Tuesday in the Cairns Post. Good idea but there is a problem. To get it free you have to say as little as possible in a certain amount of words yet it has to make sense. This is hard for someone who writes because we’re emotionally tortured, sensitive, angst ridden souls who delve deeply into the depths of the swirling morass of feelings that make up humankind and complex needs and raw emotion need space to breathe and grow so what we write becomes a part of us and is embedded in our psyche and our readers are enriched by the experience. I put ‘2 recliners. Very good nick. Phone ####.’ Yep, considered that embedded.