mushroom purple – writing 101, day eleven

before i start, i feel i should apologize to myself and to my little bit of web space for epically failing at building a blogging habit. so i’m sorry, self. but i refuse to give up on you. now that that’s done, let’s get back to prompt at hand: the home i lived in when i was twelve.

in a suburb of a suburb, down a side road, off a side street is the house my mother still lives in that saw my progress from five to eighteen years of age. it was just left of center of the block of time i spent there that i turned twelve. was it that year we painted my room purple? i called the color mushroom purple but a more common way to describe the tone is probably purple-greige. it’s still one of my favorite colors and i hope to slather new walls with it one day.

my room had an alcove in it where my old dog used to lay on the back of my pink chair and catch the sun. i never used the alcove. except for one day when i watched an episode of MTV true life or real world or one of those ridiculous shows. two girls were going to an nsync concert (it was 2002, mind you) and they painted giant pictures of the band members with rubber cement and pasted them to their car. “it’s totally removable,” they said. and i totally believed them.

three hours and a handful of magazines later, i’d collaged an entire wall of the alcove with sayings, pop icons, art prints and whatever else my little heart desired.

it took two years for my mom to discover my work of art. “it’s totally removable,” i said.

it totally wasn’t.

love always, sarah.


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