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Fatalism Is Acceptable
Everyone will understand if you're feeling dark and gloomy and fatalistic in the winter. No one wants to hear that in the spring. So for those of us who might not suffer from clinical depression but who do like to explore the darker side of life, winter is our season. It becomes acceptable—even encouraged!—to get all grimly philosophical and spend whole days sitting in bars reading Camus and hoping Springsteen's "My Father's House" comes on the jukebox but not actually wanting to get up because everything is absurd and all choice is illusory, we just let ourselves be blown about on the wind like the snow. We are subject to the whims of nature. And nature is no mother. Nature has no love. Nature is merciless. And so we sit in a bar, our coat dripping and drying in the corner, wishing our French was better, hoping the snow never stops. But it will.
Final Update: It is 1:55 pm and the snow that turned to rain is now sleet. It is wet out there. And still cold. So it's not all bad.
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