Running, Drinking, and Surviving

So I was listening to a podcast last night (link below, all credit due to Stuff Mom Never Told You) on my drive home from an interview. The interview went great. The interviewer essentially told me I had the job subject to some red tape. But it was in Northern Indiana. Now, there's nothing wrong  with Northern Indiana, but I'm from Southern Indiana. The furthest north that I've lived was Indianapolis, which is smack in the middle of the state. And when living in Indy, I mainly stayed on the south side of the City. I just felt more comfortable there.  Regardless, the podcast didn't have anything to do with geography, but it addressed the compulsion of perfectionism. It was as if I was driving through a City that felt like home to me (Indy) while hearing a podcast describing me to a T. It contained some startling revelations, and yet explained so very much. When I was younger, I was super critical of my sister's girlfriend. My mom, a true mom, defended my reaction...

Dear Chris (I’d call you Mr. Evans, but you’re slightly younger than me)-- This is an apology. For all the women who profess a love for you when we’ve never met you. I know I’m guilty of this.  It seems totally cray cray.  And while I don’t claim to be the most mentally stable person on earth, I’ve got a decent grip on reality.  I would never actually, physically stalk a person or cause harm to another unless it was necessary to protect myself or others.  I do feel the need to explain this odd obsession that has developed, however. When I was younger, I thought I was in love with Donnie Wahlberg (fellow Bostonian, maybe we have a pattern), but alas it was merely a crush of a pre-teen.  Then there was Luke Perry--oh Dylan, you were so tragically hot.  I’m sure there were others, but those were the poster boys of my youth.  I didn’t know these people at all. I saw them on tv acting, or performing in music videos, but that was about it. I never even saw N...