Alice:But I don't want to go among mad people.
The Cat: Oh, you can't help that, we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
Alice: How do you know I'm mad?
The Cat: You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.
The Cat had it right. We are the mad amongst the mad. Whenever I believe I've encountered a sane person, I need only scratch a bit to discover their maladies, their incongruities, their pathologies. It's comforting to know that we are all the walking wounded. Would that then be the definition of 'normal'?
It's 11:41 on a sultry Thursday evening. I've got a snifter of Taylor Fladgate LBV 1999 sitting next to me, there's a sweet pussy curled up next to me and the night is young. SG forgive me. It's been one month, two days and 23 hours since my last confession. Sometimes it's tough being apart from the ones we love, but that distance only makes us grow stronger. Or some such romantic, ridiculous sentiment.
Ever notice how romantic sentiments suffer only the thinnest veil of reality? Sort of like the idea of 'normal' people. I dare say that I am dangerously close to having a gothic moment. I thought those days were gone! It isn't that I harp on dark and gloomy thoughts, the "oh boo hoo, life's tragic, I think I'll wear all black" mantra. Please. Yes, life is tragic. It's tough. So what do you do? You suck it the fuck up and keep on living. Duh. Life is imperfect. We are all imperfect. Herein lies the seed of what facinates me about psychology. From a failed goal, to a departed love, our hearts and minds suffer grevious injury. I had a terrible crush recently. A brief hello was enough to send stars whirling in my eyes. What a wicked experience! And yet I survived each hello; I wrapped my wounds in gauze and hobbled down the street. This is what fascinates me about people. How we manage each day to salve our injuries, pick up our canes and shuffle on down the street. We all do it. Even the 'normal' ones.
So what do you think? Are we all mad?
The Cat: Oh, you can't help that, we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
Alice: How do you know I'm mad?
The Cat: You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.
The Cat had it right. We are the mad amongst the mad. Whenever I believe I've encountered a sane person, I need only scratch a bit to discover their maladies, their incongruities, their pathologies. It's comforting to know that we are all the walking wounded. Would that then be the definition of 'normal'?
It's 11:41 on a sultry Thursday evening. I've got a snifter of Taylor Fladgate LBV 1999 sitting next to me, there's a sweet pussy curled up next to me and the night is young. SG forgive me. It's been one month, two days and 23 hours since my last confession. Sometimes it's tough being apart from the ones we love, but that distance only makes us grow stronger. Or some such romantic, ridiculous sentiment.
Ever notice how romantic sentiments suffer only the thinnest veil of reality? Sort of like the idea of 'normal' people. I dare say that I am dangerously close to having a gothic moment. I thought those days were gone! It isn't that I harp on dark and gloomy thoughts, the "oh boo hoo, life's tragic, I think I'll wear all black" mantra. Please. Yes, life is tragic. It's tough. So what do you do? You suck it the fuck up and keep on living. Duh. Life is imperfect. We are all imperfect. Herein lies the seed of what facinates me about psychology. From a failed goal, to a departed love, our hearts and minds suffer grevious injury. I had a terrible crush recently. A brief hello was enough to send stars whirling in my eyes. What a wicked experience! And yet I survived each hello; I wrapped my wounds in gauze and hobbled down the street. This is what fascinates me about people. How we manage each day to salve our injuries, pick up our canes and shuffle on down the street. We all do it. Even the 'normal' ones.
So what do you think? Are we all mad?
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
I am of the belief that normal is only to be determined by person being "evaluated"
However, my relatives are all quite "abnormal"!!