The Immaculate Narcissist and her Mudslide Brown Walls

I eventually did uncover something so much more, and for that I am extremely grateful.


_____________________________________________________




My stomach churns every second I spend in this room. The ceiling is too low for my taste and the walls were recently repainted, although the previous murky brown is still noticable underneath the white, leaving it a bland shade of beige only seen on color swatches and hospital walls. One can walk into this specific room with no previous knowledge of it whatsoever, smell the turpentine clinging to the carpet and feel an urge to know what type of person would paint a perfectly average room mudslide brown.

I know her. Its the same woman who later splashed the walls with the current color. "I change with the tides," she boastfully claims, "and it just happens that white primer depicts renewal and I am not ready to give the perfection of such situational chastity away any time soon."

So here I sit, in a crimson chair, at a wooden desk with these blinding white walls. One cannot remember why he or she wastes time here when there's honestly nothing to decipher. There's interesting posters sprawled on the walls to read, sure- if you find relative interest and artistic merit in having "truths" placed in your hands.

But I, begrudgingly quiet throughout even the most intriguing of conversations that take place in that room, stare absentmindedly at those walls. All I can think of is that appalling paint job from so long ago and whether or not I will ever have the chance to scrape this surface and uncover something less surreal than this seemingly "immaculate" narcissist.