Those two things are certain.
Because my level of poverty means I still get most of my money back after the government borrows it for the year: tax time usually isn’t too excruciating. Lately, however, I have spent more quality time in front of my computer at work – purchasing, freight coordinating, watching Gunther on YouTube and generally tiring of its supreme data availability.
But I got my W-2s (the fewest amount ever with a mere two different official employers), and I was ready to slip on my sexiest green copy editor visor and assess my refund. Yes – I spent all day researching Muffin Monsters, nipples and butt weld accesories, but I felt prepared, even eager, to return to my computer post, enter my tax data and watch my sweet little cents work their way back to my bank account.
Here’s the problem: I forgot about my unemployment earnings, my student loan payments and my out of pocket medical expenses. Was I a resident of Alaska or Idaho last year? And what about Oregon? How many of my illegitimate children can I claim as dependents? Can I write off my booze budget if it directly influences my writing prowess? Ugh. So many goddamned questions and documents. How could anyone ever do grown up taxes with itemizing deductions and whatnots?
I’m no quitter. I forged on through the tough questions and imagined what numbers those documents might contain. I made some progress. I clicked ‘Continue,’ and then it was all gone. Flung out the TurboTax saloon doors, I landed in a dusty horse pile of non-connectivity. When I picked up, brushed off and logged in again – they acted as if they’d never heard of me. All those “saving your data” sweet nothings were faked.
So I’ve decided to put off my taxes for a while.
And really who could think about taxes when the uber religious, loudly operatic theater major quit today after one week of employment, claiming our foul mouths made for an uncomfortable workplace? This is the fishing industry of southeast Alaska. I’m not quite sure what she expected.
Lucky for me, most of my coworkers are pretty rooting tooting enjoyable (pardon my strong descriptors). Tomorrow is the founding meeting of Bitches that Knit wherein my friends and co-ws Stevie Wonder (the girl) and Stif Fanny will gently end my knitginity. I hope I learn how to make a coaster because I really needed one the other day. I also hope it’s easier than determining my state of residence for 2008.