**The Bottom Line
Oucho. Mucho oucho. Taxes are just no damn fun. And tax preparation is very expensive. After dropping some more money into Sheri's IRA, the numbers lined up with us not owing the government anything, and them actually planning to send a benjamin out my way. We also managed to hack our tax rate almost in half for the past year. The state I don't owe either, and we managed to get Sheri's estimated taxes taken care of with our refund through the third quarter of next year. With no refund to toss Carmie's way to knock down the cost of her services, and H+R Block discontinuing their discount program, I was stuck writing a rather painfully large check to cover the preparation fees. Had it been even remotely winterlike outside when we left the office, I would have ended up in a most foul mood. But the gorgeous nearly spring day allowed me to mostly ignore the cloud of smoke coming from my checkbook. And I have a year to recover until I have to go through that whole process again. Although that may not quite be enough time...
**A mango would be nice right about now. And some Doritos.
For no particular reason that I can figure out, other than the weather, maybe, today really felt like a Friday to me. I guess that statement could use some clarification,eh? Today felt the way I remember Fridays feeling back in the day. Back when at 2:30 I'd be staring out the clasroom window, not paying attention to anything but the smells of spring wafting in. When the journey to Peoria was accomplished with the windows down, the music up, and a fresh pack of cigarettes in hand. When the mall was actually considered a viable social scene and you had absolutely no reason to be home before midnight. When working as fast as you could, even if it meant skipping a thing or two, meant getting out the door and into the street sooner. The whole thing underlaid with this pointlessly wild energy that just made you want to go and run crazy for as long as you could. Friday was an event. Something you looked forward to. Something you indulged in. It was a part of the week unlike any other, and it had it's own special vibe. I miss that.
Years of working in the hospital trade seem to have bleached that feeling almost into nonexistence for me. Friday has just become another 8.5 hour period to be spend toiling in a windowless room that always smells the same. There is no longer the eager gathering of equipment in preparation of an all night dungeoneering session. There are no hours spent on preening in the mirror hoping to catch someone's eye later out on the dance floor. The sense of relief that came from walking in the door and just dropping everything, knowing it would be waiting there for you on Sunday evening, is gone. I really do miss that. Be even better if I could figure out how to get it back.
**White roses and ginger. Seemed odd at first, but it keeps rattling around in my brain.