For hundreds of years, at least, optimists have been accused of looking at life through rose-colored glasses (some say blue and green were also acceptable filters for life's harshest moments).
Me? I've been going in the opposite direction, taking life's sweetest events and slapping an orange filter on them to harsh their mellow high. I have to do this before the wavy midnight comes and I slip into insane.
Because when I think of the best times of my life, they really are incredible. This isn't some Pollyanna bullshit; I really was blessed when I stood in the path of a lightning bolt. The experience is still so bright that I need the orange filter to make it seem less than what it really was; otherwise, I run the danger of losing myself in the light, staring into the sun and letting myself go blind.
So I slap on the orange filter and tell myself: that was an ugly landscape. I surround myself with people who speak in orange tones and let them tell me how rotten my life was. I concentrate on the orangy sky and try not to let the memories of those eyes shock me into sense.
Funny thing, though: even through orange, the sweetness remains. Would it really be a danger to stare into the sun? I'm not sure there's anything better left to see.
Time to slap on another layer of orange, turn up the music to 11 and listen to the broken lullaby.