Thoughts about the Color Orange

I have grown to hate the color orange. It is a nasty, in-between color from red and yellow. It is violently bright and reminds me of the afternoons that I so used to wish would not be coming to a close. Orange. The simple portrayal of the end of day. Leveling our thoughts with a humidity that emits itself from the shallowest of cracks. But if we look a bit deeper in those cracks, those wrinkles on our footpath, just small hint of orange wouldn't be so bad. In the most arduous of spring forest, orange is a breath. It is a tinge of relief. I prefer to reevaluate my colors seasonly. Picking my flavor carefully. Selecting my theme of reference rather than the same, drab color. So orange, maybe winter will be your day.

My suit

I tried on my old suit the other day. After dropping a few pounds, it didn't shock me to see some baggy corners on my once-slimming pin striped jacket. I put "Let in Suit" at the bottom of my to-do list; the primary job being to write down my to-dos. It made me wonder to what extent those thin orange pin-stripes really work their magic. I could just buy a new, better one. I guess the problem is, I like that suit. I went to hard, important funerals and long, hot weddings in that suit. So maybe I will eat freely again and stop being happy to fill out those standards that seamstress sewed so deeply. Or maybe I will wait a bit longer to find my comfortable pair of slacks and jacket.