Fatalism: An American Christmas Story in My New Life

Fatalism:

-Any view according to which human beings are powerless to do anything other than what they actually do. Included in this is the belief that humans have no power to influence the future or indeed the outcome of their own actions.

-The belief that events are decided by fate and are outside human control.

-One such view is theological fatalism, according to which free will is incompatible with the existence of an omniscient God who has foreknowledge of all future events. This is very similar to theological determinism.

-A second such view is logical fatalism, according to which propositions about the future which we take to currently be either true or false can only be true or false if future events are already determined.

-The view that the appropriate reaction to the inevitability of some future event is acceptance or resignation, rather than resistance. This view is closer to everyday use of the word “fatalism”, and is similar to defeatism.

Day Area! I leapt up to give hygiene boxes out, and wake my patients up from their drowsy, wintry slumbers. I have been working with a few stragglers who, I presume, have room for improvement. I have been successful with a handful namely: S_, and G_. They have made notable improvements with hygiene, compliance, and behavior. In The mornings I finish my shift feeling rewarding. A light of hope shows in their eyes. They are beginning to feel the reward associated with hope, and the possibility of making it into a Group Home: S_ namely. I have sort of adopted him. Most of my co-workers have their favourites they dote on, however, S_ is noticeably passed by for reasons I could never understand. He doesn’t take direction well, but honestly their direction is generally against the rules. You can’t force a patient in their room, and he won’t be forced. I respect that, where most other co-workers resent his ability to decipher his own rights. I can relate. Life is constantly full of people trying to force you places they have no right to. Standing up for yourself is a sign of sanity to me, but to most of the other co-workers it only means more hassle, and less comfort for them.

She comes in every morning and picks a fight with a patient. She has her targets, and her favourites. She dashes the light of hope from the eyes of the mentally feeble. My morning has lost its reward. I wave goodbye to my ward, and bid them to behave until we all watch the News together again the next morning. Call it what you will but they listen to me. They follow my directions for the most part, and when I have to redirect one, or the other, I do it in a manner that they know I am there for their best interests. It isn’t selfish re-directions. It’s similar to how I’ve managed kitchens, and a newbie completely wrecks an order. I am disappointed, but I am not draconian. It only means they need more practice, or direction in that area (the ones who are actually trying, that is).

It’s the Christmas gift exchange tonight. I actually care for the co-worker whose name I’ve drawn. She was the first co-worker I actually clicked with. I had to ride my bike out to the local Health Food Grocery to buy her a gift card there. She had showed me vitamins and supplements she had bought there before. Afterwards, I cruised the book stores just to enjoy being out away from the mentally ill for a while. I collect comic books. I grew up on Stan Lee, and don’t really enjoy Marvel movies as much as the comics or the 90s cartoons. Plus, I grew up drawing comic book characters, and graphic novel characters. I have a collectable How To Draw Marvel Super Heroes book from when I was in middle school. My English 101 Professor I took in high school had the Sin City graphic novels in his office. He also was reading Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums, and the cover art on the new copies of that novel look like graphic novels. It would be no surprise to me that he had some influence on those cover choices. I believe he taught the writers or artists of The Walking Dead. At least one of them went to high school across the street from where I knew him. I have a Watchman and Philosophy book with a chapter titled Is This Literature? in reference to Watchman: this is not your grandfather’s comic book. This is partially why I don’t care for most of the super hero movies that Hollywood is pumping out. Any cool kids of comic book 90s know that the original comics could be much darker themed and “adult subject matter” by today’s Disney standards.

The man in his mid 30s looked at me strange for flipping through the vintage comic book section. Fuck him. I’m so tired of the Confederacy of Dunces where I live. I can’t even go to the goddamned book store without one of these hicks trying to judge me without the proper qualifications to do so. My Philosophy & English Professor would read Conan The Barbarian when he wasn’t reading Kant, or Rousseau. He answered one of my questions on literature using his Conan guilty pleasure as an example. I bet that asshole at the bookstore couldn’t even pronounce Rousseau.

I felt weird, so I checked out the poetry section for a while and read some Virginia Woolf. Modernism truly is the writing for the thinker and reader who have read a 1000 books. Joyce wrote about the sound of thoughts and Woolf’s stream of consciousness is like cake or a walk in the park for the true reader; she skips through the formalities we have all read a million times.

I began feeling depressed like something was being taken away from me which was the opposite of why I went out in the first place. I may end up being a contract Nurse for a while to give me time to work on my novels, and I do have some graphic novel ideas I would like to work on when I get the time. I’m collecting books and resources to take with me when I finally get a cabin out on some land; disconnect for a while, reconnect with myself and my writings. So, I frequented another bookstore, and walked around thinking. I picked up a copy of poetry by this new poet Whitney Hanson, I believe? She is being published by Penguin after self-publishing and advertising on social-media. Again, it’s all for research. It reminds of myself back in high school and college and I wrote more passionately back then before my college professors crushed that annoying trait out of me. I would say I’m more of an Essayist now versus the poetic wordsmith I was back then. Either way, her poetry definitely unblocked some writer’s block I have had and the world is so new now. I feel that keeping up with it will be useful in publishing myself: a world drastically different from how I grew up and, even more, so different from my college professor’s world and advice on publishing. The kids get it better than we do because smart devices have been omnipresent in their ontogeny. - Another hick, hillbilly gave me that fucktard look again as I was skimming through her pages. I do have a beard, and long hair now, - I guess he never saw a picture of Walt Whitman. I could be Christmas shopping for my endless supply of young adult, female cousins who keep popping up all over. So many, - I forget about some of them. Either way, he should fuck-off. Fucking Deliverance people all over. The American South is fatalistic. If there is life: dash it. If there is a deer: shoot it. If their vegetables are raw: cook the life out of them. Squash everything until everyone is miserable and dying, and that is their culture. No preservation. Nothing Pristine. Everyone is equally miserable. Fall into line. The gravesite is nigh.

I finally began feeling better on my bike ride back home. I think my (likable) co-workers are also feeling depressed. Working so closely with the mentally ill could take a toll on the psyche. Many people we care for will spend the rest of their existences there. That could be depressing. My group should go out together and be around normal people more often for sanity checks, I believe. The South has turned me into a hermit where I once enjoyed myself in social company.

Last updated December 22, 2023