My taxes have been significantly delayed because, somehow, the form I needed from xyz was sent to georgia, where I have never lived, and not to me, here in fabled Massachusetts. Now that the form has arrived, complete with georgian address still, I can complete the package. (Extension was filed, and etc, for those who worry.)
But why I laugh? Firstly, since a book arrived in the mail today… I am deeply curious, if my job is writer and editor… can I claim a tax deduction for my book purchases? Because, if anything is a tool for a writer, it is a book that someone else has written. It is the very education and training that one finds at the library, if one is that sort.
if one refers to oneself as one, for instance.
that is the sort I am, these days. The girl who keeps buying books, or borrowing books, in the hopes that her brain will click back in and run wild through the secret gardens and find Dickon, who is my dream guy, albeit 34 years ago.
I’m being forced to go through and figure out how much I made this year on my writing (close to nothing, yes, not livable, no.) and then how much I paid for the privilege of trying to get one of those jobs. (more than I made? almost! hows that for fun learning?!)
It is better to laugh than to have to reassess one’s whole life because of taxes. Motherfuck though.
I think this might be therapy laughing. Or psychosis.
I’m not at all sure.