Thursday, April 15, 2004
TAXING
Ahhh, 'tis the annual ritual of Tax Day. All across the land, citizens scramble to pay their dues to the government. The majority of you probably submitted your 1040s several weeks ago, but for some of us, April 15 is like the final seconds of the NCAA Championship, the 18th hole at Augusta. Yes, I delay. I procrastinate. I do it because I like it. Yep, I enjoy the frantic energy, the panicked rush. We relish in it. The clock ticks all day, faster and faster. We slide between our work and our taxes – what a rush. Yes, I enjoy being that guy at the main Post Office just before midnight. The last one in line, sweating out every last second. I’m that asshole you see on the local news, ten seconds before the clock strikes 12, shrugging his shoulders as he approaches the dropbox, “I don’t know, I just got distracted I guess. But they’re in ain’t they? Yep. And not a moment to soon.”
Ahhh, 'tis the annual ritual of Tax Day. All across the land, citizens scramble to pay their dues to the government. The majority of you probably submitted your 1040s several weeks ago, but for some of us, April 15 is like the final seconds of the NCAA Championship, the 18th hole at Augusta. Yes, I delay. I procrastinate. I do it because I like it. Yep, I enjoy the frantic energy, the panicked rush. We relish in it. The clock ticks all day, faster and faster. We slide between our work and our taxes – what a rush. Yes, I enjoy being that guy at the main Post Office just before midnight. The last one in line, sweating out every last second. I’m that asshole you see on the local news, ten seconds before the clock strikes 12, shrugging his shoulders as he approaches the dropbox, “I don’t know, I just got distracted I guess. But they’re in ain’t they? Yep. And not a moment to soon.”
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