flâneur

On Sensitivity, Sadness, and Noticing Things

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Or: Scattered Thoughts On Seasonal Change

By September, good weather leaves me with an unshakable sense of anxiety. It’s too much pressure. Any day could be the last “good” day. Maybe, even, it already happened and my standards for what makes good weather have just dropped. The sunshine becomes nothing more than a reminder of the coming grey, dark days—things that would be enjoyable in their own right but seem foreboding when contrasted with the espresso-smooth sunlight. I think about a lot of things this way. I can’t handle when things are good because it reminds me of how empty I’ll feel in their absence; I’d rather just force…

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