Mad Houses

Why are there two posts today? Well, today Bravo left and Foxtrot took over and the handing over process is a long and noisy affair which ahs no boundaries. From 8am to 1pm I was repeatedly interrupted from any semblance of rest by the unearthly racket of discontent human traffic and the shifting of stores in and out of the compound. The walls of this room are thin enough to let one hear anyone in the room next door singing, offering very little protection against noise, much less the kind made by unprofessional movers. Once I fell asleep at around 1.15pm (the abrupt end to the sms trail on my phone told me as much) I had put a decent but insufficient 5 hours of rest behind me to awaken at 6, in time to resume my usual ritual and duties.

I was flipping through my phone (what is left of whatever is inside it anyway- since the internal memory is inaccessible) and I found an old note with an interesting quote:

Mad houses are large and only too numerous; yet surely it is strange they are not larger, when we think of how many helpless wretches must throw their brains against this hopeless persistence of the orderly outward world, as compared with the storm and tempest, the riot and confusion within: -when we remember how many minds must tremble upon the narrow boundary between reason and unreason, mad today and sane to-morrow, mad yesterday and sane to-day. (Lady Audley's Secret, May Elizabeth Braddon)

While the source has been unverified it is safe to say this little marvel of the human ingenuity does indeed strike a chord of truth. Where does the line between a great thinker and a raving lunatic end? I have never believed that insanity is a medical problem that can be treated simply with medication. When the mindis involved it is no longer merely treating an ailing tissue or organ, there is intelligence beneath that which one cannot hope to retain while altering the chemical make up of its physical form.

The mind and the heart have been clearly separated when it comes to the matter of feelings and emotions but when one considers that the heart is merely a large muscle that never stop pumping, shunting old blood one side and shooing fresh blood another- it seems wholly foolish to blame any feelings on this poor overestimated organ of ours. Modernity has found the source to be the unassuming grey matter in our skulls, the weak, flimsy lump that accounts for so much more then we would have guessed. Do we then live within the confines of our mind, truly living within that place since its content is the only difference we share with one another?

Alright enough prattling, I have a bad stomachache (I don't think lunch agreed with me) and I have to change, last shift! I'm so looking forward to going back home <3

Quote of e Post:
You are the God who saves us
Worthy of all our praises