pistol and ball

There are no happy seasonal events (save for that debauched tradition of Valentines Day, which is no tradition at all other than to fatten your loved ones up so you can convince them to go on a diet with you later...a cunning scheme ladies), there is constant grayness, dankness, boredom, and a thick sense of molasses in the air. Indeed, the cursed molasses of the doldrums is nigh and what action have we but to run for the coffee shops...only to arrive with soggy shoes. In the last month I have seen the sun twice, each time a momentous occasion; children danced in the streets, drivers complained because they had misplaced their sun-glasses, and I went out and read Moby Dick in that hallowed sunlight—its wisdom echoed to my soul. May this be an encouragement to you my Northwestern countrymen and Lower Mainland friends.
"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially when my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it time to get to the sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for a pistol and ball."
And so I head for the sea tomorrow, be it rain or blazing rain, I hope a trip to the sea will awaken my soul and dry out my spirits.
Kyrie eleison