Paper Or Plastic?

So for several days now I've been mulling over the idea of how things look on paper. Not things, really. People. I don't mean paper dolls people. I'm referring to real people on paper. How they look. Now I'm beating a dead horse. The point is, does it matter?

I'm begining to realize that yes, to me it does. Not sure why. I'm not particularly judemental or discriminitory. I try hard not to hold a grudge. But for some reason, I find myself placing significant importance on the life resume's people hold. At least some people. The important ones.

Where do they work? What do they drive? With or without a license? Are they insured? Who are their friends? How do they live? Rent or own? Habits, hobbies, and hang outs? Morals? Do they abide by the law or run with the rebels? What it comes down to in the end is good or bad?

At this moment I hate myself for being so black and white. I miss reveling in shades of beautiful grey. I miss my deep philisophical side. I miss ignorance is bliss. After all...who am I to judge?

I am terribly unaccomplished. No degree. No shiny car. No fabulous house. No high stakes salary. No husband, despite the child. It's been years since I took myself on a vacation, and without government assistance my bills would never get paid. I can barely afford my low income life.

And yet I have a handul of the best friends on Earth. A car all paid off that consistantly starts. Food in the fridge. A little boy whose smile is worth more to me than gold. And while I do on occassion bend the rules by having a bit too much fun, I believe in good deeds, kind acts and keeping my butt outta prison.

So what matters? About me? What about other people?

In todays broken world, how do we judge ourselves and eachother? By how we look on paper? Or who we are in plastic. You know, the barbie and Ken dolls we act like in front of other people. Because Im not sure which version is more real.