Well, today, your favorite contributor of informed recklessness grew up all the way…
How? I just had to break the IRS off with cheese instead of getting it back. And they might want more.
I hate being grown.

See, in college, high school, etc., the question is whether you’ve gotten your refund yet. At this point in life, the question is, “did you do your taxes?” See, the answer could go either way. Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems? Maybe for us, but Uncle Sam loves to see you break more bread. Cuz he’s coming for his. And that which he did not already take, he wants. You can come off it or he can come get it. You always wanna vote for coming off it. Trust.
But the grown part of this was that I had to file an extension. I needed time to figure out just how much I was gonna have to break off. Threw the man what I figured I owed him, but it might be more. I might have to get an accountant, some socially maladjusted bastard that really gets off doing this shit. That’s really bonkers, but if it saves me some bread, I’m down. I’ve got four months, though, to read the good (bad?) tax code and handle mines.
But do you know how much it hurt to throw those zeroes at the man and know it was probably just a down payment? But do you know how good it felt to know that I had it to sling? Complaints about bills tend to bother me, particularly when one stepped into those obligations voluntarily. But owing more tax means making more bread, and that’s a lot better than getting a refund check that won’t even cover a month’s rent. And it ain’t like it ain’t already your own damn money.
Yes, April 15th is the worst day of the year. Not even close. Well, the 18th will be worse. Five years to the day that Jon died.
Perspective. It’s something else. Take the loot. Ain’t nothin in the grand scheme.