...and you're working for no one but me...
A beautiful drive in beautiful weather with beautiful company...and we talk about taxes, the ones I didn't do last year or the year before.
I was told by the IRS that I had three years to file, if I was due a refund.
Today I learned that if I walk the hairy outside edge of that, the IRS will do my taxes FOR me, making sure I DON'T get a refund.
We work on taxes most of the day, go to Coco and Sparkey's for dinner. Over dinner, we talk (and laugh about, believe it or not) tax code.
It's dizzying. We're not, by nature, any good at this. Still, leap through paper hoops, sign in blood and file in triplicate.
Then pay taxes on the refund.
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Silver's dying. Tomorrow, we'll walk across the Rainbow Bridge.
I hate this. I do.
MA says that I have "a tender heart," which is her way of telling the children not to make fun of me when I cry at sad bits or happy bits in movies.
I haven't done my requisite crying lately.
It's not that I take it personally. We've had Silver fifteen years now, and he was two or three when we got him.
But my tender heart bites at me, knaws my core. I suspected I'd lose Pogo and Silver in the same year, but, oh, it still hurts.
Again, sympathy is welcome, though I wish I didn't need it.
(Taxman; Beatles)
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