A Day in the Life

So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody's having fun. Or are they? It's obvious that Christmas, amidst all the mindless materialism and wanton celebration, can be a difficult time for many of us. Imparticular those who experience mental ill health. So, I'd just like to say in this very short blog a very Merry Christmas to all at Mindbloggling, particularly those who have taken the time to read and comment on my blog. I know that for many of us, including myself, social isolation can be a big problem, but it is always nice to know that there are some of us out there who can share our experiences and communicate in this way. I truly believe that this can make our lives a little bit more enjoyable and I have certainly enjoyed being a part of mindbloggling. So, for at least this year, that may be all from your average delusional and paranoid man. Oh, please don't be too sad, after all there's always next year and who knows what that might bring. Or, as my old aunt use

I've been thinking alot recently about how, when we are ill, we are often told by counsellors to concentrate on living in the present- not to get bogged down ruminating about the past or the future. The thing is, one of my passions is reading literature, and literature seems to take a very different view of this. Indeed, it seems to tell us of the need to remember, both in historical and personal terms. The starkest statement about this I found in Jed Rubenfeld's book "The Interpretation of Murder" where, in the very first chapter it states: " There is no mystery to happiness. Unhappy men are all alike. Some wound they suffered long ago, some wish denied, some blow to pride, some kindling spark of love put out by scorn- or even worse, indifference- cleaves to them, or they to it, and so they live each day within a shroud of yesterdays. The happy man does not look back. He doesn't look ahead. He lives in the present. But there's the rub. The present can ne