Why do I now prefer writing in my bedroom when I have a perfectly good study - a space cleared for thought? I feel inspired to dream while I'm awake in here - not there.
Is it because I've just coated the room and everything in it a lilac pink? Is that the colour of my inspiration?
Or does it illicit forgotten memories from my childhood? The baby-pink bedroom of my spoiled youth, the dear faces of my parents, still missed after so many years. I've been through so many colours since then.
But perhaps I need to visit them once again, in my imagination.
Maybe this shade is my mood-connection to the past. I'm alone now, responsible for the world I live in and my painted walls.
Or could it be something to do with the womb - a protective colour - a safe haven for my dreams. Help that I need in a harsh world, often too over-whelming for someone totally unprepared or never expecting to be the 'Bottom Line'.
A softness, which evokes feelings and comfort, which allows my mind to wander and explore, knowing I'm enclosed and private, separated from others who see too much.
Or is it the large mirror with its elaborate edge reflecting my thoughts surrounded by soft, gentle, allowing colour?
I look at myself in the frame and from the 'truth' of distance - an inner 'truth'? Is that what empowers my exposure? Is distance enabling me to write such secret, forgotten feelings in my journal?
My teenage bedroom was a similar pink - total colour - enshrining girlishness and innocence¦ protection, before adulthood and reality hit me.
