Talking of walls, I been climbing them for years...
No, not the kind of stuff kids do these days, you know, shnoofling up the sides of 59,000 storey buildings in the city? I don't do that, it messes with the balance and gives you vertigo, you know, like I just NEED more imbalance in my life?
I meant the kind of stuff one does out of frustration. At least, in my day, it was an expression that meant you were, well, frustrated as heck and it was finally getting to you. So you began to climb the walls. Metaphorically, of course. I also perfected the art of walking across the ceiling, once I got up that wall. All in a manner of speaking, you understand.
Funny, though, how these throw-away things one just says translate into the real thing, somewhere down the line. I mean today, practically every mall has these sheer walls, with kids in helmets and a little piece of string tied around their middle, literally swarming up them. Now tell me, if we were meant to do that sort of stuff we'd have been spiders? Or flies? But what do I know.
Anyhow. After the 'climbing-the-walls' phase, I hit the 'quick-let's-fill-up-all-that-wallspace' phase. I had one wall in every room covered with stuff...framed posters, pictures, postcards, casual by-standers, a chipped heirloom plate, a couple of ex-boyfriends, a half-eaten pizza...you name it, I had it up there. Every wall in the place had its own personality, and some of them were multiple.
One wall was decidedly manic depressive, as it had Sunflowers by whosehisface wot chopped off his ear right next to a bunch of Picasso bulls and Toulouse Lautrec's high-kicking cancan girls. It must have been altogether too much for a poor wall to handle, all at once.
Then the too-much-stuff-up-there got to me and I lived the next few years with blank walls...unrelieved white expanses, severe and unadorned. It sort of fit the general mood. Now, I have wonderful knobbly walls full of character that resent anything being poked into them. I tried several times, with all sorts of drill bits. But they're probably made of nuke-proof reinforced concrete and repel any attempts at being nailed.
However, the knobbly bits provide the perfect surface for two of my catts to climb right up, which they do rather often and rather expertly. So now, to go with the catt-hairs in the carpets and hairballs behind the cushions, I have paw-tracks streaking diagonally across the mediterranean-look whitewash. In some places they criss-cross. I must admit, they do make a statement. Of what, exactly? I'm still trying to work that one out.
I meant the kind of stuff one does out of frustration. At least, in my day, it was an expression that meant you were, well, frustrated as heck and it was finally getting to you. So you began to climb the walls. Metaphorically, of course. I also perfected the art of walking across the ceiling, once I got up that wall. All in a manner of speaking, you understand.
Funny, though, how these throw-away things one just says translate into the real thing, somewhere down the line. I mean today, practically every mall has these sheer walls, with kids in helmets and a little piece of string tied around their middle, literally swarming up them. Now tell me, if we were meant to do that sort of stuff we'd have been spiders? Or flies? But what do I know.
Anyhow. After the 'climbing-the-walls' phase, I hit the 'quick-let's-fill-up-all-that-wallspace' phase. I had one wall in every room covered with stuff...framed posters, pictures, postcards, casual by-standers, a chipped heirloom plate, a couple of ex-boyfriends, a half-eaten pizza...you name it, I had it up there. Every wall in the place had its own personality, and some of them were multiple.
One wall was decidedly manic depressive, as it had Sunflowers by whosehisface wot chopped off his ear right next to a bunch of Picasso bulls and Toulouse Lautrec's high-kicking cancan girls. It must have been altogether too much for a poor wall to handle, all at once.
Then the too-much-stuff-up-there got to me and I lived the next few years with blank walls...unrelieved white expanses, severe and unadorned. It sort of fit the general mood. Now, I have wonderful knobbly walls full of character that resent anything being poked into them. I tried several times, with all sorts of drill bits. But they're probably made of nuke-proof reinforced concrete and repel any attempts at being nailed.
However, the knobbly bits provide the perfect surface for two of my catts to climb right up, which they do rather often and rather expertly. So now, to go with the catt-hairs in the carpets and hairballs behind the cushions, I have paw-tracks streaking diagonally across the mediterranean-look whitewash. In some places they criss-cross. I must admit, they do make a statement. Of what, exactly? I'm still trying to work that one out.
posted by Priya Tuli at
9:19 PM
|
0 comments
