The praxis of taxes

Taxes are great. I love a race against the clock.

I did my own! First time in twenty years. Lemme tell you, it was intricate.

Worked it like a jigsaw puzzle, I could only sit at it so long and I had to check out, eyes bleary. Stayed up late at the table and admonished myself to bed. Last year’s prepared return was the box cover, let me see what the picture was, which pieces went where. That last piece, satisfaction, press it in place.

Yeah, that’s the ticket. A fun puzzle with arithmetic.

Why then, the dread, it could be excitement. Setting aside for a second that what the US govt and me in turn is spending money on right now around the world. Get bent, Tax Man! (<– still love stranger than fiction).

Excitement might be pushing it, not worth the angst and agony. Why do we (and by we I mean me) let it feel so stressful? Plus you can always a) file for an extension as long as you send them some $$ if you owe and b) re-file if you figure out you made a mistake. They give you every reasonable opportunity to work it out. The way I look at it, if I fuck it up, I am sure the feds will let me know. Moreover, kindly offer me to shirk calculating my own penalty (indicating in the instructions that it’s complicated, don’t worry your pretty little head). Instead, you’ll send me the bill, ol’ Uncle Sam, whattaguy.