death and taxes.

i should be reading the shitload of books i bought from the states, but my attention is drawn elsewhere. specifically to raymond carver's excellent ultramarine. i like the feeling of staying home all day and not doing a single thing. well nothing except playing with my adorable niece, who has a new name for me, - big. whoa, diet time.

i should have worked on replying to the inquiry on my tax returns, esp since i was way late, and i should have sent them the "evidence" on why that lazyass (haha) of a mother, isnt working her butt off since at 60+ she's pretty "young", and more because, i think it just doesnt feel governmentally right to be claiming relief because of her.

ah i'll write them tomorrow.

which brings me to the funny story of how the guys in my office concurrently decided, 3-4 days before i flew to the states that it was the appropriate time to submit ourselves to the tax dept.

naturally we were all bloody late. dean, the guy who casually asked the rest whether we did our taxes, was pleasantly surprised that there were 3 other guys who didnt grunt back that painful yes. so he had company for that ira trip. besides that, he also had something quite like a court appointment for the non-filling of tax thingys, so he didnt really have a choice. the other 3 of us were cowed by that officially looking paper and decided that since there was company we might as well troop down together.

upon reaching there, Jon, decided he wasnt really done procrastinating, so he sat outside. dean dilligently trooped upstairs to the more severe looking office while j.s. and i, (his bosses) waved cheerfully at him, and urging him to call us, if he need bail.

we went in. confronted with the impressive looking help kiosk, i, an audio visual entreprenuer, capable of solving complex audio visual systems, and mouthing off impressive-sounding theories on light rays and colour separation, turned immediately to the middle-age admin officer standing next to the kisok and said:

"uncle, press which button?"

followed by his cheerful retort:

"this one, the one that says "press here to start".

as a cover for my dim-wittedness, i, in my most intelligent voice said:

"ooohhh, wow, high tech huh?"

looking at the other queue, J.s. was looking equally dumb-founded. (and he makes this trip each year without fail.)

we got ushered to young admin officers (possibly arts and soci or biz ad grads) who beamed at us with brilliant smiles.

mine asked me:

"you mean up till now you still havent submitted your tax details?"

from the cubicle next to us, J.s.'s voice could be heard, apparently he was asked the same question:

"thats nothing, my colleague sitting in the next cubicle, one more is outside wondering whether he filed, and another one's upstair hoping we don't have to go up to bail him out."

i smiled as sweetly as i could to the pretty lady.

****

listeningto: joni mitchell - you turn me on i am a radio
reading: carver's ultramarine