The Duchy of Jerald

Tears for a Saturday Afternoon
So.
This reading on narcissism has helped to clean house of my sketchy friends. I mean it's OK
and desirable to put up with imperfections and idiosyncrasies in fact we love each other for our
foibles not our perfections. Not only do I not have to be perfect, it's better if I'm not.
The latest episode was an accountant I met over at Cafe Beano, Tom. Perpetually in shit with
his clients for not getting their taxes done on time, that kind of thing. Seemingly nice guy,
conservative but not too rabid, liked to chat about business, a fav subject of mine, so as long as
we didn't stray too far off topic we got along. Politics was a no no, he was too right wing. Art he
was clueless as well. Religion? Nope.
I didn't know that it had to be his topics of interest, otherwise he got bored and irritated, a red
flag I just learned about today, I mean I'm recovering from being groomed from birth to be
codependent, meaning making my needs and desires secondary to an abuser. Hardwired.
So I had just left Edi, thrown out for speaking up about getting my needs met essentially, and
was looking for friends, the coffee shop was a place to start.
Turns out that the coffee shop was a place for those with mental health issues to gather, all the
halfway houses being defunded by conservatives in love with reaganomics and thatcherism.
So Tom was the best of a bad lot, charming, educated with a degree in accounting he said, (he
lied, never finished), and someone to spend time with. It never occured to me that he should call,
or look me up, or ask me how my day is going. That ol codependent thing yanno.
Fast forward 9 years of aquaintenship and he still hasn't done my taxes which has been ok as I
couldn't afford to pay them, or him, so we just let it slide, year by year. Then this stroke thing
happened, I'm suddenly homeless, my old apt. was up 4 flights of stairs, and I need my taxes for
last year to prove entitlement for government assistance to get a house set up. In fact if my taxes
were done I could have financed my vehicle through the credit union, where they have disability
insurance. Oh well, didn't need that credit rating anyway. Month after month dragged by, I'm
still in the hospital and the social worker is saying, what's wrong, without the taxes done, I cant
apply for anything, and Tom keeps saying, soon, soon.
Finally we strike a deal where he can fax the documents, to the social worker, but not file them,
with the government (no accountability), but at least she has them, which is useless to me. Tom