I watched a presentation on PBS on depression and one interviewed therapist said that people who suffer from depression actually have a very accurate picture of themselves and the world around them. It's the one's who are happy who are deluding themselves. I thought this in terms of hammers and nails, since it's the happy people who tell you that you aren't normal and to cheer up and all that crap.

Ever since then, when I get down or frustrated or whatever I just think, "HEY, I'M THE ONE BEING REALISTIC. YOU, GET THAT SILLY GRIN OFF YOUR FACE. YOU'RE MISERABLE. FACE FACTS. I DID."

It is also notable that the depressed compatriots among us who really know what's going on are given medication to stop them from being realistic! I'm not sure where to even GO with this line of thinking but all of it really disturbs me. Although, it pains me to think that the people who use recreational drugs to "escape" reality probably have a real handle on things and those who choose not to escape are really messed up, or else are a major part of the problem since they are the backbone of the existing power structure they protect and serve.

I also think that other people don't mind that certain folks are miserable. They just don't want to have to deal with it so if you hold it in and suffer your pain all by yourself, that's okay. However, if your bucket of pain gets full and you shoot up a post office, it's a problem. Some say vent it in low dosages. Better to play ball, sweat it out, just punch a wall now and then or kick all the unwelcome guests out of your house if they're spiking your misery index than to shop the ammo section of the local K-Mart and saunter off to happy hunting grounds. Seriously, people. Take guns away from whackos. But ask yourself why we have so many whackos diabolically sporting around these days as opposed to the 1950s, or do we?

Have statistics been skewed beyond the recognition of right and wrong in an era when happiness has fewer and fewer takers?

On the other hand, how realistic is it for one to EVER think oneself responsible for the dingbats and wingnuts of the whole stinking world, moonlighting on some pedestal, self-annointed, as some holy roller savior of billions, pocketing millions, or maybe not even a dime, but nevertheless fainting and feigning lockjawed over that brother's keeper line of reasoning? Steve Taylor often has said he could care less for ANYBODY save his own small circle of friends and his family. Worth noting. Hence, a generally happy outlook because he has relieved himself of a responsibility no one can shoulder realistically anyhow. Smart approach as a starting point.

In this case, the sad eyed prophet is the delusional one who frets over the world's problems UNREAListically, injuring himself in the process. But undiluted self-interest is as bogus as the converse. So the paradox remains. Is the algebra of happiness a reality marked by self-interest, or is the algebra of reality simply the starting gate for all unhappiness. In others words, might thinkers always think themselves into unhappiness, despite any slant given to the freedom of individuality? After all, paradoxes like nature, abhor a vacuum, a generation of feathers and stripes, and the Washington Redskins name...