Pale Blush

I arrived home with a diploma in hand and a graduation cap on my head. But only in a figurative sort of sense. My diploma and cap were in a box in the trunk of my vehicular mode of transportation. Along with other boxes in the trunk of my vehicular mode of transportation. A couple of those boxes made it into my old bedroom. A couple others into the room outside of my bedroom. A couple things in the hallway outside of that room. And a couple more by the stairs. The rest are still in the trunk of my vehicular mode of transportation.

I have laundry to do. I have an old bedroom to clean. (Funny how I can live away from home for eight months and my room gets messy.) I have boxes to unpack. I have boxes to remove from my vehicular mode of transportation to my bedroom. 

But there is much pain in my soul. Because all of these things that I must accomplish between now and [insert logical/reasonable time here] are centered around my bedroom.

And you know what? My bedroom is a blinding box of pink, waiting to pounce on anything that is willing to step foot inside of it. And I am that "anything", if I ever feel like sleeping. 

But even when the lights are off, I feel as though I am being suffocated by Barbie's lipstick.

Years ago (like, four or five), I was in a traumatizing stage called "Pink Is Nice. Let Me Paint My Room That Color." But then I recovered.

If any of you are considering painting a room red mixed with white, I advise you not to. Pink can be a nice color. It can. But please do not put that color on a large, vertical plane in a room.

I'm going to go do some laundry.