Klowns in my Koffee

Regrets? Recriminations? Dogged mental reconstruction of the past year in painful detail? Sniffling over missed opportunities?

Yes, I worked on my taxes.

And you thought this was another job loss whine, didn't you?

I interrupted my vision quest and general funk this weekend to do taxes. The deadline for financial aid applications for my daughter's college is March 29. She attends a highly-ranked liberal arts college where the tuition is $52K. Since we were barely able to pay the part left after financial aid and work-study before (Bless you, Mastercard!), getting this done was a necessity.

I wrote a nice little essay on the last page about the change in our financial circumstances. It's odd to think about writing something that someone will read. I wrote easily a thousand pages of procedures, reports, analysis documents and other corporate flotsam and jetsam for Porkus and I don't think most of it was read even by the recipient. I don't have any other explanation why I would be asked to tell the requester the content of a document so that they wouldn't have to read it. Maybe they liked my sonorous voice. It's like ordering a meal in a restaurant and then giving the plate to the waiter to save the pain of having to eat it.

Did I finish the taxes today? Noooooo. Did I enjoy it? Again, nooooooo. Every flat surface has a pile of papers on it. The 'get your life cleaned up' project seems to have gone in reverse.