#93: Death by Taxes

RANTEROONIE

I’m typing this on my phone at 6:28pm with an unwashed face. All that midnight oil from last night’s sleep has been festering in my pores all day. I hate it, and yet I’ve done nothing about it. And won’t. Until tonight when I clear the way for the new sleep oils my body will pump out of those tiny orifices in the night. The oil will pour from my pores, those orifices on my face. (These words haven’t earned a poem from me but I am pleased with their relative relation to one another.) Is this how men live their everyday lives? (I don’t mean pondering the merit of skincare-related homophones and slant rhyme. I mean:) Slathered in bodily oils without a moisturizer or SPF in sight? I should perhaps interrogate this rejection of my own bodily fluid as some misguided tenet of modern femininity but I’m tired and covered in incredibly human oil right now, so I won’t. 

I didn’t wash my face today for the same reason I haven’t changed out of my pajamas. I got up and immediately started my taxes. Turbo told me it would take approximately 93 minutes to file. I grabbed an apple, plopped down on the couch, chomped, clicked, and licked the juice off my wrist while I typed from the boxes of various 1090-something forms. Obviously, this is not a success story. That’s not what you’ll be getting from me and my sticky wrists and oil-slicked face. The proceeding filing demanded a heart-racing, sweat-inducing five hours of research, squinting, and prayer. Turbo who, bitch? You’re slowbo. You’re “not very quick” as google coined your antonym. Sluggish. Creeping. Snaillike. 

A word I do think is well suited for this experience? Taxing. They really nailed it with that one. Good job, America. (I know America didn’t invent taxation, but saying good job, Ancient Egypt would’ve been out of left field for those of you who didn’t google who invented taxes just now like I did.)

As you likely know, because you are here reading this self-produced publication, I am a freelancer. A self-employed writer. It is glorious and a dream and very Carrie-Bradshaw-How-To-Lose-A-Guy-In-Ten-Days-Insert-Other-2000s-RomCom-Reference-of-a-Writer-Girl-Main-Character of me. It is not lost on me, today of all days, that there is no Tax Day episode of SATC nor a blockbuster romcom that prepared me for the 15.3% self-employment tax slapped on top of my income tax. It’s the sort of injustice that makes you say, “Kindly fuck the establishment — I’m not going to wash my face today,” you know? 

Don’t get me wrong here. I paid my quarterly installments mostly on time which is basically optional anyway. I had all my forms ready and equations equated. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. My owed amount came out a whopping four grand higher than I expected, and frankly, I’m not feeling grand about it at all. Surely I’ve made some sort of mistake. Surely they’ll audit me backwards and give me back some of this mistakenly paid money, right? Out of the goodness of their IRSian hearts? I’d make a big hullabaloo for them! Screech my thanks from the proverbial rooftops (internet). Really help the IRS rebrand. They’re the nice guys now! Do a little haul video of my audit-delivered return. Shoutout my IRS agent, probably Tim or Greg or something! He sounds very cute and wise and generous! Sweet, GregTim, kindly pay me what you owe me. I tried to guess and mathed it wrong and the tea I bought in England is too expensive to throw into the harbor. Plus I live closer to the Pacific and I just think it’s too big a body to really make the same splash. 

This piece has devolved into gibberish akin to the giblety mush of brain gunk stuffing my skull after hours of tickling the Tax Man only to find he’s not ticklish and he hates me and I owe him four thousand bucks. 

On a positive yet still monetary note (that’s capitalism, baby!), shoutout to our newest paid subs Step Chatterley, Kelsey Miller, and Kara Nickels (as gifted by Catherine Nickels)! THANK YOU!!!!! You make this work possible! You are the reason I won’t be imprisoned for tax evasion! 

Anyway, file your taxes by Monday or else. Or else what I’m not sure. Godspeed!

ily bye,

Ariana