the devil made me do it

And by the devil I mean Uncle Sam. I now have to sell my soul and get a second job. Turns out, I do owe taxes (see 4/3/2004 post). I went back today to pick up the papers that had been sent to the processing center and there it was in black and white tiny type "You owe (arrow) {more money than you have}." Thanks Uncle Sam, thanks. The reason why I owe in the first place is because I tutored some kids last year. And, being the honest taxpayer that I am, I reported all income and expenses and now I owe. That stinks. Honesty, sometimes, not the best policy for my I-really-want-to-go-shopping-but-now-I-have-to-get-another-job self.

"O where o where has my little life gone?" Over the hill to "Do you need any help or are you just looking?" I'm thinking Barnes and Noble again. I love that place. OK, so most of me wishes that small independent bookshops were the norm rather than giant corporate monsters, but when I walk in there and there are a million books on any subject and the Starbucks and the prettiness, oh the prettiness of it all. I love that place. I have to work there, not because I love it, but because I have to, to pay the taxes and thereby accrue more taxes and then next year get another job and, oh god, will the cycle ever end?

Fraid not.