I'm a mess

I know, I know, you're all shocked. I've always known I'm a mess, but I think I've become almost philosophical about it or, for lack of a better explanation, resigned to it and yet removed from it. I'm not upset, I'm not sad, I'm not anything. It just is what it is.

The reality of my life hasn't changed since I traveled into the valley of the dolls (the anti-depressant kind) three years ago. In a lot of ways, it's worse. I'm living in the middle of nowhere with more animals than friends within a 100-mile radius. What has changed is my perception. You'd think a change in perception would lead to a change in reality, a/k/a making better choices and so on and so forth. Nope, same bad choices, more ambivalence. I only make fewer bad choices, because there are less things within my reach with which I can harm myself (friends, men, booze, etc.). It's a per capita decrease, so to speak, and there's no statistical significance. I'm probably more pleasant to be around, yet there are fewer people to be around.
Logically speaking, I know it's worse. But it doesn't feel worse. It feels better. And that can't be right, can it?

What it comes down to is this: I'd trade my best day in the Magic City for a night of crying over a crack smoking ex-boyfriend on the bathroom floor of the Red Lyon while Summer wipes my eyes with one-ply toilet paper and hands me my beer.

But, I am thankful that I'm not Geraldo. As further evidence of his inaility or lack of integrity as a journalist, which has been displayed ad nauseum since the Al Capone incident, he actually interviewed Mark Fuhrman about the school shooting today. And, the subtext of his "coverage" included the nationality of the Virginia Tech shooter. Too soon.

By the way, HLC, notice the lack of typos. No hypnotic dolls.