I am addicted to colour.
Phew, I feel better now that I’ve finally admitted it. I’ve been battling this addiction as far back as I can remember. As a child, I remember hiding in my closet as I organised the clothing in my closet by colour, lightest colours of the spectrum to the darkest. Garments that had colours of multiple palettes, had their own section at the end of the closest where they hung in shame, not to disturb the colour flow of my more solid colour clothing.
Pencil crayons were arranged in order and numbered at the bottom so they wouldn’t get out of order. Crayons often had the same treatment.
I thought this was normal.
I didn’t know I had a problem.
How do you organise your movie collection? By genre? Alphabetical? Alphabetical within genres? No order whatsoever? Guess how mine are organised…….by colour of the DVD cases of course!
I always joke with people and say I have OCD.
“Obsessive Compulsive Order?” you ask.
“No, you silly!” I say. “Obsessive Colour Disorder!”
I can’t help it, I really can’t. I see colour and I love it. The wall of paint samples at a hardware store is just heaven to me. So much colour, so little space! But here’s the thing, when I joke with people about having obsessive colour disorder and they laugh, but they don’t have a clue how real it is. Anyone who has visited my house knows this is a serious affliction, and I, Jennifer Trevors, am a sufferer.
My kitchen. This room pretty much sums it up. Also, all of my favourite kitchen appliances have names. The red coffee maker to the left, her name is Lucy. See that sexy KitchenAid mixer in the corner? That’s Betty. See that gay pink container? Yeah, that’s Stan’s, not mine. The tea kettle in the second picture goes by Alice. Although the blender is new and I haven’t named her yet. Any suggestions?
My bedroom. My bedroom still isn’t as correctly colour co-ordinated as I’d like but I’m getting there. I’m in the middle of staining my dresser an ebony black and I’d really like to buy or make some sort of fabric cover for my chair.
I even buy garbage bags that match the colours of my rooms. Purple garbage bags in my bedroom, pink ones in the bathroom. And they are scented too! I bet half of you wouldn’t even know where to buy those. I do. Sometimes I even try to find red dish soap for the kitchen, pink hand soap for the bathroom.
Also, I’m preeeeeetty sure Obsessive Colour Disorder is genetic. You should see my mother’s house if you don’t believe me. Rooms are actually referred to by their colour. “I get the blue room!” I say. “No, your sister travelled further and she is here longer therefore she gets the blue room and you get the green one” says my mother. This conversation has been had in real life. I wouldn’t lie, folks.
Roy G. Biv