Monday, April 15, 2013
I don't know why it's always such a big production, but "doing my taxes," has become this ritualized version of self-torture that I put myself through every single year, usually two days before Tax Day. I buy an 8-pack of Diet Coke or now Coke Zero (more caffeine) for the occasion and agree to "take time out of time," which means disregard all normal routines, family obligations, eating and sleeping schedules, avoid phonecalls and emails, just to focus completely on this ritual of mind-numbing numbers and glassy-eyed confusion. With the new rules regarding same-sex married couples who live in community property states like California, it's even more of a picnic. But, I'm happy to say, Alma and I actually got our taxes done a day early. We weren't those people sliding into the airport post office at 11:58pm, although we were those people last year. We celebrated with the last of the Coke Zero and an evening of all our favorite shows: Nurse Jackie, The Borgias, Game of Thrones, Mad Men, and of course, Dark Shadows. I don't know why I don't just haul our boxes of receipts to an accountant and let someone who gets paid to do this take care of it for us. It's a vestige of control-freakism, no doubt. Or maybe, the ritualized challenge of slaying the dragon again, year after year.