TheBanyanTree: Delusions of Competence

[Monique Young]

	Forget delusions of grandeur, I have enough problems. My delusions
for today were simple. Get up, put dogs in kennel, visit a client, do her
taxes, come home, clean house, do an 1120S tax return for someone else,
clean house some more. Easy. Nothing to it.
	I've been living inside a Stephen King novel for what seems like
forever. You know, the kind where the world is being decimated by a plague
and wipes out most of the population. I'm one of the victims, except this is
a slow, lingering, ongoing sort of death, the kind that just goes on and on
and on . . . technically, the doctors call it a bad sinus infection, and
warned me that it would takes weeks (WEEKS! Who has weeks?) before I'd be
rid of it, but that the antibiotics would be of immeasurable help. I know
the truth. It is a plague, and this I know because everyone I talk to is
sick, or knows someone who is sick, or has narrowly escaped the death
plague, or is taking every precaution to avoid the death plague . . .
anyway, you know what I mean. 
	So yesterday, after a harrowing week of work, I stayed home and
worked quietly at home. I did one corporate tax return and then took a nap.
I didn't get to the myriad other things I'd planned to do, but reassured
myself that after some rest I'd be in much better shape today. 
	I am so delusional I'm quite surprised I have yet to be committed
for my own protection.
	So today I felt a bit better, as I always do after a day of rest --
life would get along just fine if I could alternate work days with rest days
all the time. Put the dogs in the kennel, went to see my client, got her
taxes done and efiled, stopped by another client who was in her area to see
about getting some info, and a check, but I'd forgotten my keys and no one
was home, so I came home. Then the client called me and said he was home, if
I wanted to come by. So I drove back up there because I did want to collect
a check from him. I've been putting off collecting a check from him for
months simply because I knew I could collect it any time. It's like money in
the bank, clients who owe me. 
	Then I came home again. I started cleaning up. Trudging up the
stairs took an enormous effort. Then staying awake took an enormous effort.
I've been coughing the cough of the terminally ill, so that was exhausting.
So then I took a nap. 
	Well then. I woke up more congested than before, of course, and
coughing more. Pumped myself full of Sudafed and Mucinex and a variety of
medications designed to make me functional, and still I have delusions that
perhaps, before the evening is over, I will make this place a showplace.
	Hah. Like that's even an option anymore. 
	And the other client's 1120S? No way is that happening today. I need
a functioning brain for that to happen. 
	The vacuuming? No way. The kitchen? Doubtful. 
	Tomorrow morning we leave for two days. Chances are, we'll be
returning to what I'm now seeing around me. The detritus of the activities
of two people and two dogs living their lives when one of them has the
plague. The other person? Oh, he's had his hands full just taking care of me
(and he's working). It's an onerous task, and he's doing a magnificent job,
but he's still only human. (Don't tell him this. He is unaware.)  
	Excuse me now. I have to go cough up a lung. Fortunately, I have
two, so I'll still be good to go.

M