Simple markers
This morning, I received an unexpected gift. Think of it as a tool to investigate my environment. I will allow others to discern my intentions. I was told not to poke or prod others with (it) in moments of frustration. The tool folds up for moments when I’m in a confined space, and I haven’t yet given it a name. Eventually, that will change. This marks a transition in my public appearance, although I have rarely “worn” white in past.
Some of the stairs, going down to the lower storey, now have high contrast markings. The original, gray on gray in grey were perceived as a risk. An attempt to curb running. I admit, there was a time in my life when I ran downstairs. Multiple flights, late at night in Main. I never tripped, which would have given me a need for wings. And as I got older, I avoided living too far above grade, pay or otherwise. If someone visits, I’ll dream up an explanatory tale.
Actually getting markers on the steps is a bigger deal that many realize. This is the first step to accepting that falling down (or up) is a possibility. I have, historically, not marked my territory. Decades of walls painted flat white, and neutral window shades reflect more than my bland nature. We were taught not to change things around us. Rental policies. Residence room protocols. Tent walls. All ways for me to try blending in with casual camo. And now I have markers on the stairs. What next?
OK, there was that one flag painted on my bedroom wall. I was young, and the pinholes placed fpr paintbrush guidance (pn the wall) are still there. Decades later.
