Taxes

April presents itself as a month of promises-- warmth, a gateway to summer, and taxes. Some people prefer to barricade themselves in a room and tackle reams of paper, a computer tax program, sharp pencil, yellow pad, and the belief in their ability to wend their way through the tax code-- not me.

I want to collect all my papers and carry them to a guru who, I hope, will tackle the numbers and find that the government owes me money. When I owe the government money I want to squeal, unfair.

Owing money makes me think that I'll throw over my inherited belief in the Democratic party and become one of those Republicans who wants to squirrel away all of his money-- preferably away from the tentacles of the Federal government.

This feeling of becoming the other only lasts for a few minutes. So I stomp, emit a few curse words, and remind myself that thinking that the vacation will be paid for by a nice juicy return is not the best way to approach taxes.

But just for a few minutes I want to complain and whine. I have a right to my disappointment and I don't want to be confronted with logic. I want to suck my thumb and wonder why my guru couldn't perform numerical prestidigitation with my papers.


Just for this evening I don't want to be reasonable, magnanimous, or even a card carrying third generation Democrat.