In Western culture being happy is one of the most important goals. It’s in all the smiling faces on ads – even for detergents.
The call to be happy starts when you’re little and accompanies your through life, making faces at you through every social media post. The expectation is so woven in the fabric of society that we frown upon ourselves and each other when we don’t feel on top of the world.
That is crazy. After all, life is a mixed bag and one’s reaction to it will also be a mixed bag. The net result of this insistence on happiness “leaves us with the distinct impression that what counts as an indicator of success is whether or not we are feeling happy,” says
While I wait to resolve the medical situation which is currently tied up in bureaucratic red tape and is involving copious phone calls I should never have had to make [further comment possibly after 12:50 in the Housekeeping post], there is the outrageous way the BBC has lied to its readers:
Have just spoken directly with the dentist and things are moving along in bureaucratic Britain – three or four days for the emergency extraction rather than the mooted August 8th.
It is insane. She needs to write a letter to my heart specialist, get a written reply, then send another regarding the new law about antibiotics having to be taken no matter what now – the process is around two weeks – again I stress, for an emergency same day job.
This is not my own dentist by the way – the one who actually knows my history – my own can’t see me. So I’ve just been re-explaining my dental history to a dentist. Ah, you might cleverly point out – don’t they have records, X-Rays etc.?
They do but that’s not legal in the EU now. So there are four people involved, aside from me – my dentist, this dentist, my GP, my heart specialist and all must have mailed each other and be happy first. … More here ...
I do not like Serena Williams, not at all, don’t like the family, don’t like anything about what she does. The sycophantic media were all over her, the two duchesses were cheering her every move, riding every shot, Megan Markle was crestfallen at the end – the wrong woman had won.
Not for me she hadn’t – I’m not interested in the women’s game with its grunting, although this game was not bad. But my overwhelming interest in this was to see Kerber win. I took a look at her yesterday before the game – maybe not the most beautiful woman, aged 30 and on that slow slide, had never won a major – yep, she was my gal all right. Unsung – perfect. I duly fell in love.