Taxes, Take II

My intentions yesterday were so good.  I purposely blogged about finishing my 2010 taxes, so that officially I would feel like an asshole for not doing them.  And then I was going to really do them, and declare myself awesome.  For reals.  So, I marched back to the office, and started digging in.  I felt pretty good, except that I couldn’t find shit.  I’m a little nervous that I might have gone a little crazy and threw folders I needed away.  I was thinking back to shortly after Dave died, wondering if I took too much klonopin and just said fuck it and tossed it?   I do that sometimes, if things get too messy.  I go crazy and get into a trashing frenzy.  I don’t even know if I do it on purpose or by accident, because I’m out my mind don’t-want-to-look-at-this-shit crazy at the time.  About 30 minutes into making 2010 taxes my bitch, I realize I can’t find any of Dave’s deposit slips.  The ones where he wrote where the money came from.  I kind of need that.  It’s sort of a big piece of this, right?  I mean, I don’t want to be paying taxes on deposits that were not income! So I start digging around.  I’m only missing some,  not all.  Most of this IS done.  However, ten seconds into my dig, I find a letter.  From Dave to me.  I think it’s something our marriage therapist asked him to write after one of our sessions.  He’s sorry about hurting me, doesn’t get why I don’t forgive him, he loves me and wants a good life for us, oh fucking blah blah blah.  It’s the same as every other letter he’s ever written me, and I want to burn it and him and this whole fucking house down.  Ya hurd me?  Fuck this shit!  By the way, I haven’t written “Mean Shit Take III” this month, but in case you were wondering it’s THAT FUCKING TIME OF THE MONTH FOR ME TO BLAST AWAY AT SHIT I HATE!!!!!!! YA HURD ME?!  So I read the letter.  Haven’t seen that particular one since he wrote it years ago.  So I stood there and read it and tears just started falling.  Even though I tried to make them stop.  Are there kegel exercises for the eyes?  Something that I can do to stop the tears when I don’t want them?  More and more fell, until I was sobbing.  Then screaming.  Then cursing him out and telling him to fuck off for pulling a fucking ninja on me.  Yes, well played motherfucker, because just a few minutes prior to this, I was being a secretly crazy person by talking to him, out loud.  Saying stuff like, “Could you just fucking help me find the deposit slips, because it’s the least you can do, asshole.”  So instead of helping me to find the deposit slips, he secretly put this note in my hands.  I don’t like tricks or surprises, so I kicked shit and slammed shit around and ran into my bedroom like a teenager and cried mascara and probably $30 worth of makeup off my face.  It’s times like these that I really feel so alone.  Because this would be a time when your man would hold you, say nice shit to you, or you could at least call him at work.  But he is gone.  I’m alone.  Hug and kiss your people today!  Stroke them!  Ok?!  ‘Cause I have no one to kiss or hug that is a man, and my fucking taxes are still not done, and I’m grumpy and grouchy and hating on most everything.  I swear today, my taxes will be my bitch.  For real.  And I will be awesome.  And one day, someone will hug me and kiss me and love me.  Or I’m kicking all of your asses.  So fuck you.
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