…… the taxman cometh.

And at least once a year, but more like four, this causes me to hyperventilate, and even cry.
I hate this day.

For 25 years I never did anything but sign where indicated. I’d laughingly question Jim while I signed, asking, “This won’t put me in jail, right”. He’d just shake his head.

You see, that was our agreement. Before marriage. When we went to our very last pre-marital counseling class with his pastor (do they even have those anymore?!), we each took a quiz, asking who we saw doing different household tasks.
When it came to paying the bills, I had always seen my parents sitting at the dining room table, doing them together. And so I answered, “together”.
However, when the pastor read our answers out loud, Jim had answered, “me”.
What the what?!!!
Evidently my body language of crossing both arms across my chest, although saying nothing, spoke volumes to the pastor.
He stopped everything to address the question …… and my body language. He asked me why I evidently didn’t agree. I said that I just thought we’d both do it, and that I was just as qualified as Jim to do our bills.
(Did I mention that I was a bit offended by his answer?).
The pastor turned to Jim and asked him why he answered the way he did. Jim said, “Well, I just figured that I do the bills since I’m the accountant.”
To which I replied, “Fine. You’ve got ’em”.
And that was the last time we discussed the bills.
Ever.

So you can probably imagine how beyond stressed I felt the first time I sat down with the bills in front of me.
Especially since, as Jim always said, we weren’t just a family …… we were a corporation.
Xanax, anyone?

I feel like such an imbecile when it comes to taxes. Thankfully I have a good CPA. And he, thankfully, has me.
But I still tend to hyperventilate when it comes time to find everything he needs, because I never get it right. Something is always missing.
And it slowly makes me resent the fact that I’m the one doing this. Just me. Alone.
This was NOT supposed to happen.
And then everything comes flooding back and there I am, sitting and crying over what was …… and what was supposed to be.
But that’s today.
Let me tell you about yesterday.

My CPA sent me three tax forms that needed to be sent in, and paid, today. He sent them by email. So I needed to print them off in order to send them in (all while truly hyperventilating at how much I feel like I’m being robbed).
I had used my printer a few days ago and everything was normal.
But this day? This day the printer decided to die a slow death. And a painful one. At least for me.
First, the pages were barely legible. I debated for a while just sending them in that way because why should I care if some IRS dude/dudette has to squint? But I’ve heard how testy they can be, so I investigated.
I added more ink cartridges. No better.
I cleaned the cartridge heads. No better.
And then, to top everything, I ran out of paper.
Of course this was at 5:00 p.m., when I knew that traffic would soon be at its peak here.
And there was a letter I needed to print off, sign, scan and send back.
God has such a sense of humor.
(I was not amused.)

So I put Gracie into her kennel, which is like giving her the death penalty, and headed to Target, where I bought a new printer, ink and paper.

Who, but me, would this happen to??!!!

I made it to the post office today, saw them stamp the envelopes and then breathed a sigh of relief.

I hung out with some friends today and of course the subject of taxes came up. There were many complaints, of course, but I just listened. And then one woman said, “I don’t mess with any of that stuff. My husband takes care of it.”
I should’ve told her how awesomely lucky she is.
And blessed.
And to not take it for granted.
But I just sat there, trying to control my breathing so that I wouldn’t cry.
Because that’s exactly what I used to say.
Used to.

The missing of that man will never, ever end.
It does ease, over time …… thank God.
But it will never end.

But then, neither will our love.