Shades of crazy

10:45 a.m.

I have this thing. I don’t like certain colors in my closet to touch.

Blues and reds don’t come in contact. I separate them by a yellow, a green, an orange or a purple.

So as I type this, really, it’s just the blues and reds that don’t touch.

And, no, it’s not a political thing. Though if you’ve spent seven seconds on Facebook in the last day, you might also think that blues and red don’t touch. They certainly can’t seem to talk with each other.

My blue-red phobia – or red-blue phobia – dates back to high school. So, five years ago. We learned about symbolism in literary works. Blue was sadness. Red was love.

Clearly, I would only tolerate joy in my love life. So, the executive decision was made: From age 18 forward, the blues and reds in my closet would not touch.

The type of clothing isn’t a factor – shirts, skirts, dresses or pants. (Yes, I have red pants. Who doesn’t?) Fabric also doesn’t matter – silk, wool, poly or cotton. They all “hang” together – as long as the blues and reds don’t touch.

For a while, I put yellows next to greens to foster the whole spring/renewal vibe in my life. (I have green pants, too!) There was also a focus on pulling forward the purples in my closet because the color represents royalty, and well, obviously, that’s me.

Turns out there are more important things to do in life so I stopped that nonsense. But the blues and reds still don’t touch.

Why am I still doing this five years later? Well, obviously it’s because this “strategy” continues to shield me from great heart break and loss.

11:15 a.m.