April Rant
"Are you serious? You HAVEN'T DONE YOUR TAXES YET?" She's clearly horrified and probably surprised. I'm a responsible, punctual person - a dork. Everybody knows this. I like charts, graphs, and office supplies. I continue to be wildly impressed with the design of the paper clip. It's just the teeniest bit of metal twisted brilliantly!!! I'm also a mess.
Have I done my taxes? Ha! I don't even know where my taxes are. Where my W-2s are, that is. I hate that: W-2s. You'd think they'd have named them something that made a bit more sense, like "Yearly Totals" or "Wow, You Need a Better Job". I absolutely cannot stand things that don't make sense to me, and taxes make no sense to me. I don't mean the part where we have to pay them - that's fine, I get it, I even favor it. It's just the methodology and the terminology. Why do we have to "do" taxes at all? I refuse to believe there isn't some frightening piece of federal technology that could record all our earnings and expenses, that knows how many dependents we have, that can tell whether or not we've actually donated money to our church, etc., and could use that information to set factors and formulas to remove automatically from our paychecks the correct amount in the first place, thus leaving us happily ignorant of the whole process. Or maybe I'm just annoyed because tax forms bring up math in the springtime. April could be such a lovely month, otherwise.
Many of my peers insist that they enjoy tax time, since it means they get lots of money back. These are mostly the peers who have managed, through some kind of government-encouraged existential crisis, to claim "0" instead of "1" on their W-4s. This is another thing that makes no sense to me. It's like wearing size zero, it's completely ridiculous. Zero is zero. Nothing, not there. You may think your existence is debatable, but if you're pacing around on April 14th clutching W-forms and sweating profusely, then financially, it is not.
That'll be me, most likely. I am a responsible person, but much more so at the eleventh hour. And I've nothing much to look forward to, as I always declare myself, myself. I doubt I'll have to pay, but my refund will be small. Sandwich-sized. Good for an afternoon at the mall, where it'll *poof* into lattes and going-out tops that will turn out to be embarrassing, and no good will come of it and nothing will change. Speaking of horrified. Maybe the feds should just keep it.
Have I done my taxes? Ha! I don't even know where my taxes are. Where my W-2s are, that is. I hate that: W-2s. You'd think they'd have named them something that made a bit more sense, like "Yearly Totals" or "Wow, You Need a Better Job". I absolutely cannot stand things that don't make sense to me, and taxes make no sense to me. I don't mean the part where we have to pay them - that's fine, I get it, I even favor it. It's just the methodology and the terminology. Why do we have to "do" taxes at all? I refuse to believe there isn't some frightening piece of federal technology that could record all our earnings and expenses, that knows how many dependents we have, that can tell whether or not we've actually donated money to our church, etc., and could use that information to set factors and formulas to remove automatically from our paychecks the correct amount in the first place, thus leaving us happily ignorant of the whole process. Or maybe I'm just annoyed because tax forms bring up math in the springtime. April could be such a lovely month, otherwise.
Many of my peers insist that they enjoy tax time, since it means they get lots of money back. These are mostly the peers who have managed, through some kind of government-encouraged existential crisis, to claim "0" instead of "1" on their W-4s. This is another thing that makes no sense to me. It's like wearing size zero, it's completely ridiculous. Zero is zero. Nothing, not there. You may think your existence is debatable, but if you're pacing around on April 14th clutching W-forms and sweating profusely, then financially, it is not.
That'll be me, most likely. I am a responsible person, but much more so at the eleventh hour. And I've nothing much to look forward to, as I always declare myself, myself. I doubt I'll have to pay, but my refund will be small. Sandwich-sized. Good for an afternoon at the mall, where it'll *poof* into lattes and going-out tops that will turn out to be embarrassing, and no good will come of it and nothing will change. Speaking of horrified. Maybe the feds should just keep it.
posted by Tracy at 11:27 PM
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