The Forces of Good vs The Armies of Evil

[mallorys_camera]

I was 20 minutes late to TaxBwana yesterday—got stuck behind a tow truck that was chugging along hilly 44/55 at 20 miles an hour—and so missed Moira, the totally delightful 86-year-old whose taxes I did at Highland a couple of weeks back. She came in at 9 with an enormous box of treats! (TaxBwanas can't take money, but we can take treats!)

"Patrizia, Patrizia, Patrizia," Steve the site coordinator grinned. "That's all she kept saying. You have a fan."

This was particularly touching to me because I know exactly how much disposable income Moira has, and it's not much. The treats outlay was a significant expenditure for her.

Then later in the day, one of the TaxBwanas approached me: "They're my friends, so I really don't feel comfortable doing their taxes. Too much information, you know! But I really want to make sure they get someone good. Will you do them?"

So, you know: Ego validation!

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My mood turned to meh as the day wore on. The political news is really quite awful, and I find myself preoccupied by the question: Why exactly did you choose to be born in this time & this place?

Because I am quite convinced: Choose I did.

What am I supposed to do? Personally, I see the world in shades of grey, but the world defies me by shaping up into some kind of Manichean battle: Good Guys versus Bad Guys. Belinda, my Trump-voting pal, all but admitted to me when we went out for Himalayan food last week that she regrets her vote. (And, no, I didn't prod her. I deliberately steer away from political discussion when I am around Trump-voting pals.)

But how do I know that I'm not one of the Bad Guys?

Life! The ultimate role-playing game!

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The only real talent I have is writing.

But I'm not under the illusion that anybody reads much of what I write.

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Meanwhile, I am wayyyyy behind on my Remuneration goals & Adrienne's website is still not done.

Icky & his ill-mannered spawn have vamoosed for the next 10 days, leaving me in solitary possession of the casa. So, that's a good thing.

(Minor showdown with Icky last week. He complained the kitchen was dirty. I told him that I was perfectly willing to clean up after myself, but I'd be goddamned if I was gonna clean up after him & the Spawn. I did clean up after him & the Spawn a couple of times when I first moved in, in an effort to ingratiate myself, which doubtless gave him the wrong idea.

And I get the feeling you want me to move out, & I am looking for another place to live, I added.

I don't want you to move out, said Icky. And cleaned the kitchen.)

Black Chicken seems a bit more chipper. And tonight, I will be hanging with the Girl Squad at the Parkview, which should be fun.