I’m one of those people who get “bright ideas” and must act upon them sooner than possible, preferably yesterday.  Not impulsive in terms of important decisions, I look before I leap when consequences of actions have long-term effects upon my life.  I get bored easily and don’t tolerate predictable routine or stagnation well.  I prefer twists, turns, and bumps in roads I’m traveling on; I view tranquility as a cover for actually obstructing and wasting precious time and overlooking memorable moments.

Just yesterday, I walked into the local drug store for some items and decided to restore my hair to its original shade of dark brown when I saw all those boxes of hair color before my eyes.  At 4:30 pm I returned to my home as a full-fledged blonde, at 5:15 pm I hopped out of the shower, none other than a born again brunette.  Last March, I gradually began my transition toward becoming a “ bleach bottle blonde.”  Then, after completing my drastic transformation, in the blink of an eye, I did a total reversal.

Here is a comical example of my active mind at play.  As a teenager, my parents owned several small boats that I wasn’t allowed to borrow by myself.  I wanted something to call my own; I figured I could build a wooden raft and paddle it around the canal behind our yard.  I grabbed some lumber my father had stored on one side of the house, 2x4s, 4x4s, or whatever they were, and started nailing them together.  It’s really difficult to drive a nail into wood with a hammer.  It was then I realized I wasn’t cut out to be a carpenter, although, I managed to get the nails in far enough to hold the lumber together.  As soon as my contraption was finished, I dragged it down to the water and jumped on it in order to begin my nautical journey down the canal. 

Of course it sank.

A more elaborate example of my enthusiastic optimism was the unforgettable occasion I decided to sponge-paint my living room.  I had gone over to the home of some friends for dinner and was thoroughly impressed with the way their kitchen was remodeled.  After complimenting them regarding the striking wallpaper they selected, I was informed that it was not paper; they sponge-painted the walls…themselves.  At that moment, my mission was clear and NOTHING was going to stop me.  Not my lack of experience, or, my lack of creative artistic ability.  A sponge, some paint, and my smiling determination were all I’d need to see me through. 

So, the next day, I skipped over to the store and bought one sea sponge and some pinkish, actually fuchsia, paint.  I took the lid off the can, gave it a few stirs, and poured a generous amount into a bowl.  Since I’m impatient by nature, I worked very quickly, sporadically stamping the walls with my overly saturated sponge.  Moving furniture away from the walls was too much of a hassle, so I painted around the sofa and entertainment center.  Besides, no one looks behind them anyway.  When I was finished, I stood back to view my masterpiece.  It looked as though someone took a bucket and threw Pepto Bismol all over the place, which would have been apropos, since the sight made me nauseous.  I wanted to wake up from this self-induced nightmare.  However, I was undeniably awake; therefore, I tried to convince myself it wasn’t so bad, that I had to get used to it.  But it was that bad.  Within two days, the entire room was repainted a solid antique white, and not by me.

The defective raft and untalented sponge-painting projects were well-intentioned attempts that failed…miserably.  However, they were attempts, nonetheless, and therefore, count.  More than sometimes endeavors don’t work out the way we’d hope, but we never know until we try.  Not all my ideas are disastrous, or, laughable at the least.  The ones that are, don’t really matter anyway; that’s part of their charm.

Besides, my hair looks pretty good.  Blonde or brunette, I have plenty of fun simply by being myself.