Crazy is as crazy does (not).

Me: "You reckon I'd qualify for a 'crazy check?'"
My friend the lawyer: "You? Absolutely."

I still don't know whether to take that enthusiastic response as good news or bad, but it's probably true either way.

On my father's side of the family you find the serious depressives: multiple suicides, alcoholics, abusive types and the generally morose. My mother's side holds the eccentrics: the "cat lady" types (except without the cats), the annoyingly histrionic and the hermit-like pack rats who seem to live in the middle of a rummage sale with all their life's treasures surrounding them. I have some of all of that, which leaves me often on the verge of tears yet strangely comforted by the mountains of do-dads, kitsch and swag that make my life complete and meaningful.

I have not yet resorted to defrauding the American taxpayer by applying for mental disability compensation. It's a thought, but truly, as I have remained honest in my present job, I clearly don't have the lack of scruples required to scam. Maybe I'm just not smart enough. In my two years (so far) as a bureaucrat, I have seen enough to leave me disgusted, bewildered and, yes, slightly crazier than I was to start. When I total up the "administrative fees," the folks getting paid $25 an hour to do nothing and the exorbitant prices government agencies are willing to pay for junk (yea kitsch!), yet only in chunks of $5,000 so you can't get a discount, it leaves me wondering if I'm the last honest person (read: idiot) left in the country. Of course I'm not. There are plenty of other people here who are just as crazy as I am.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying the occasional Sharpie marker multi-pack hasn't accidentally made it's way to my house once in a while. I just don't have 15 cousins on the payroll earning a living playing computer solitaire and surfing the net all day. Hell no! That's my job!