Cry me a river.

I’m fine. Really.

So I’m realizing that it isn’t particularly brave to resist taking anti-depressants if you really need them. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe that taking anti-depressants would mean that I’m crazy…even though I don’t feel that way about other people who take them. At any rate, I’ve joined the legions of New Orleanians who are popping their “happy pills” just to cope with the complete and total stupidity of life in the Crescent City since “she-who-must-not-be-named” happened almost a year and a half ago. And it helps. No longer do I cry over the bacon selection at Winn-Dixie. But, I've also learned that it's just as scary to laugh inappropriately...and I don't mean like when someone falls off a bicycle. I mean like when you find out that it's going to cost twice as much to repair your home as you were led to believe it would.

Our insurance rates are going up. Our cable rates have gone up. Our utilities are going up and probably our property taxes are going up. Now, I don’t object to the property tax part if the money will go toward fixing the schools, the streets, the crime situation and generally improving the life of those of us who have chosen to remain here in this pitiful shadow of what New Orleans used to be. But I have no confidence that any of the money will be properly spent. Hell, I have no confidence that the trash will be picked up once a week so requiring accountability in government is probably out of the question.

Still we hang in here. Because as bad as it is here, most days I’d rather be in the wreckage of New Orleans than in oh say…Los Angeles. So, yes. I am fine. Really.