Getting Better is Not as Easy as You May Think

The first step towards getting well is admitting you have a problem. Since I recognised my condition, I have striven to overcome it with alcohol, drugs, and mindless activity. But I must always be alert, because the golden retriever of cheerfulness can sneak up on one at any time and inevitably leads to serious disruptions of normality.

It is proposed that happiness be classified as a psychiatric disorder…..

https://jme.bmj.com/content/medethics/18/2/94.full.pdf

How Science Discredits Itself

www.nytimes.com/2019/10/14/upshot/diet-soda-health-myths.html

Here, in a nutshell, is a short article that explains fully why “They” keep giving us conflicting information on whether a Diet Coke or a barbecued steak or, whatever, is bad for us/not bad for us.

The blame is as much or more with the reporting than the science itself. Especially when the reporter is a journalist, or worse; someone with an axe to grind.

iPhone 11 and 11 Pro Review

I asked myself “Do I need to upgrade my iPhone?”

A few more questions and I had the answer without even examining the latest product at the Apple store.

  • Will the new iPhone shorten the waiting time on a call to Centrelink?
  • Will the new iPhone ensure I get a call from my daughters every weekend?
  • Will the new iPhone facilitate a speedier delivery of pizza from Dominos?
  • Will the new iPhone significantly improve my telephone conversations with bureaucrats?
  • Will the new iPhone change the way I make medical appointments?

No it feckin’ won’t.

What else Can the new iPhone do?

  • I already have five cameras.
  • I have a tape measure, compass and GPS.
  • My old iPhone connects me to Facebook, Netflix and Spotify. I can’t watch movies or listen to music any faster than I already do.

Do I need to upgrade my iPhone?

No, I feckin’ don’t.

Sortilège

BF85623B-4847-4915-9F57-1642FA32B3A2Voici un sortilège

  • trois yeux de serpent
  • trois oiseau volants
  • trois fruits suspendus
  • trois chaussures perdues
  • trois sourires de crocodile
  • trois doigts d’anguille
  • trois oreilles de souris
  • trois foies de lézard
  • trois orteils de canard
  • Trois yeux de limace
  • trois morceaux de glace
  • trois oeufs de coq vert
  • trois jambes de vers
  • trois bras de poisson
  • trois ailes de cochon
  • Trois langues de chat,
  • trois queues de rat,
  • trois gros crapauds,
  • Trois escargot
  • trois litres d’eau,  stagnante.
  1. Remuez  bien,
  2. mélangez bien,
  3. Trelin trelin, trelaron.

il n’y a pas de nuages ​​au Ciel’ 

Je m’inquiète pour ma santé mentale.

 

Purpose

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

This blog no longer serves any purpose.

I started it in part to stay in touch with my family,  partly to serve as a journal or memoir for when I became old and senile, and partly to see if I could develop a writing skill worthy of using on something more substantial.

I have my answers, and medical tests assure me I need not fear dementia.

I no longer need validation.  If I continue at all it will be just to post the best of my photographs.

 

And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love you make
Lennon / McCartney

 

Home

Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary. A houseboat in Kashmir, a view down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a gray gothic farmhouse two stories high at the end of a red dog road in the Allegheny Mountains, a cabin on the shore of a blue lake in spruce and fir country, a greasy alley near the Hoboken waterfront, or even, possibly, for those of a less demanding sensibility, the world to be seen from a comfortable apartment high in the tender, velvety smog of Manhattan, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Rio or Rome — there’s no limit to the human capacity for the homing sentiment. Theologians, sky pilots, astronauts have even felt the appeal of home calling to them from up above, in the cold black outback of interstellar space.

Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire.

Where I am now does not feel like home. I hoped it would, but it doesn’t. It is the place where I currently live. I live in a caravan, which is an object. The caravan is in a park on Bribie Island, which is a location. Neither the domicile nor the location is home. I’m not even sure these days what, or where, home might be for me. Or even where it was.

Every place I’ve ever considered to be home has been taken from me or I have had to leave it behind. Every place I’ve been happy, I’ve had to abandon. As child I moved with my parents wherever their aspirations led. As a young man I followed employment opportunities and my own romantic hopes. For the last eleven years I’ve gone again where necessity sent me, albeit of my own free will. I have found the occasional Happy Place, where I can enjoy being alive and communing with the natural world in some positive heart-lightening way, but I have had no home in that time. No place where I could look around me and say “This is where I belong. This is where I shall stay”.

Looking back I realise I have been searching for such a place since I was a child exploring the hills and fields and streams of the Manawatu, and as a young man exploring the bush and beaches and under the seas around New Zealand

Also, of course, as I explored the possibilities of a shared life, relationships, offering and seeking love.

Home is more than a house, more than a place. It is people in familial and social relationships. Relationships which are enduring and settled. It turns out I’m not so good at maintaining relationships. Two failed marriages, other failed relationships, and very little constant contact or intercourse with family.

I’m not sure if this is caused by, or is what causes, depression.

Fortunately, or perhaps otherwise, I am comfortable and content in my own company. I don’t get lonely when I am alone. Even so, social interaction comes easily enough to me. I don’t have the difficulties that, for example, an autistic person might. I can be amusing, empathetic, and supportive. Caring. Nonetheless I cannot seem to get right the combination of interaction that will lead me to have constancy of companionship and the stability of location that feeling at home requires. Others move on. Or I must.

So here I am ageing, separated from friends and family, with my social interaction limited to a few short term acquaintances and virtual friends whom I no longer see in person or have never even met in the first place.

All I can do now is seek out a new Happy Place. One where I can stay. I have no idea what, or where it might be, though I have an inkling it must be somewhere on or near the sea. Most of my Happy Places have been. I find peace and contentment by the sea, or by water, more than anywhere else.

Does this introspective essay mean I am, after all, becoming lonely?

I have to think about that.

Literature.

i don’t understand.

I get but one measly like for an absolutely hilarious story about my vasectomy. Four for a scarcely interesting  tale about my colonoscopy, NONE for a sadly deep and meaningful poem by Yeats, one of the greatest of poets, and TWELVE for a ridiculous verse of my own in imitation of Poe.

Whats wrong with people?

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