Since all my friends have either had children or bought houses ( or both ) recently, I decided to join the fun. Having dodged this responsibility long enough, it is time to take the plunge, and do things very differently. Who knows, I might even like the process and love the results. Yep, I’m itching for a big change, aching for the excitement of the unexplored road–whatever the challenges may be. Yep. As long as the costs fit my budget.

And thus begins my search for a new car.

This could be me behind the wheel of 2010 Nissan Versa. It’s not of course me yet, but it could be.

Weekend went well until the second half of Sunday when business required leaving the apartment, which itself impelled a more frightening action: getting dressed for the first time in three days. It was such a pleasant run until then.

Periodically I test my mettle as a hermit. I wonder if I have what it takes to spend days wandering the same rooms, breathing the same air, and avoiding direct sunlight.

The short answer to this and previous isolation experiments is that I can deal with holing up in the apartment a lot longer than friends and family will sanction. Gimme a stack of a books, a working computer and some frozen food and let me rip. That’s all I need. And maybe a Thermos of ice decaf coffee. OK, and some cheesy poofs. But that’s all I need. Really.

Oh, and my Blackberry. Speaking of which, check out the new office pet. A Scooby Doo Pinata. Ah, my very own Wilson.

Yep, everything is fine here. Just fine.

I just can’t quit my accountant.

He reported exceedingly good news last week; I overpaid my taxes in 2009, and thus a modest refund of the overpayment is due. Sometime a treasury check will appear by mail, maybe in the summer; no one is quite sure exactly when.

Regardless of when this payment actually arrives, the development is far better than last year, when I owed a colossal–to me, anyway–amount, because of a designation error on my part. This brings me to me to why I love my accountant, and hate the fact I need him.

Generally, I spend more time filling out the certified mail request at the post office than reviewing and signing tax filings. All year, I stuff everything in a folder and drop it off for my accountant. He mails a nice report with all the filing instructions, completed forms, pre-addressed envelopes and notes on what needs to be done for compliance.

I outsource all the hassle. Because the entire process is a major pain in the butt, and I have better things to do than master the intricacies of the ever changing tax code. For that knowledge and proficiency, his fee is justified.

True, some years go better than others, but in the end, delegating the stress to an accountant preserves what remains of my hair. Perhaps this is why the accountant is almost bald now. He’s worrying for all his clients. And a little bit of that worry is for me. For this I love him.

Yet I hate needing him. And hate more so how I do actually need him.

In 2009, I learned one inextricable lesson about the United States tax code. Don’t quote me on this, because it might have changed by now, but in 2008–and many years previous, according to my accountant–whatever your filing status was on December 31, 2008 was your filing status for the year. Wife gave birth to triplets on December 31, 2008? Yep you got three dependent deductions for the entire tax year.

Well, the divorce finalized in June 2008, and guess who forgot to change the exemptions with his employer? Who forgot to have more money withheld the remainder of the year to compensate for this change of situation? And who neglected to say something to his accountant about this development, when said accountant would have told him what to do?

Yep, the oversight was totally my fault and exactly why I need my accountant. Even if I hate it.

I just can’t quit him.