Nightmares

No matter who you are, at some point in your life, you feel powerless. Powerless. Children, I imagine, feel this way quite often--the Howler, feels it to the extreme every blessed minute of every day.

I've seen movies that made me very uncomfortable because of the overwhelming powerlessness of the characters in the face of the enemy. Terminator 2 comes to mind--how do you stop a monster that simply will not stop?

In real life, there is very little that frightens me--but I have seen the Enemy, and it's name is IRS.

Understanding the motivations, even having a smidgen of comprehension that it's all legal, does not help the feeling of overwhelming powerlessness.

When the IRS knocks, EVERYONE is afraid. Attorneys and CPAs listen politely until you get to the part where you want their advice (paid? HAH! Keep your money--you're gonna need it! The IRS is gonna take it!)

It's frustrating. There's no place to begin. There's no explainations--and no one wants to offer any. The IRS "Help Line" is a series of "press one now," but even taking consolation in the fact that it's in English, there's no real help there.

The best part? Knowing that if you're lucky, you're gonna get out with your skin (and maybe your firstborn--although, all things considered this past year, I might be willing to trade them...) but no one cares.

Mention the IRS and NO ONE wants to know. Don't ask, don't tell, don't listen! It's like being an entire leper colony.

So, on Day #3 of this particular ordeal, we're still breathing, reeling, and most likely, deluding ourselves into thinking that this will EVER be over.

We're All In On It

22

So, my Sweetie and I are even-steven in the arena.

Wordless Wednesday (my first)

Kevin's Ass




My Ass

Ahhh, Wordless Wednesday.

Bee Afraid

Don't get yer panties in a knot

Saw this on Flea's World, and took the test.

22

*That* Time of Year

This is my dad. From a long time ago--when I was a little girl. I don't know the date the pic was taken.

It's that time of year--the time of year I think about my dad, A LOT.

Today would have been his 73rd birthday, and Wednesday marks the 19th anniversary of his death.

Needless to say, I'm gonna be depressed this week.

Some years, it breezes by and hardly bothers me. Some years, I start in February and stay in a deep funk until the end of June. This year, I've hit the grumpies and it seems to be hovering just off my radar screen to fly by and whack me every couple of days.

I'm sure I'm just a peachy hunk of love this week.

Anyway, I posted this, for Scribbit's Write Away contest. (And I have apparently become link-obsessed in that last sentence.)

Mostly, what I miss is the opportunity to show my dad how I turned out as a Mom (It was touch-and-go for about the first 19 years), and I miss not knowing his thoughts on the Howler.

What I do have is a quick, off-center sense of humor that is absolutely from him. My sense of the ridiculous definitely comes from him. He could get me to laugh at myself, no matter how badly I did not want to.

I miss being able to tell him how I understand a bunch of stuff I didn't before. And how I messed up those promises--I did the best I could, but I still got some (all?) of it wrong.

As always when this happens, I am amazed at how sharp the loss still feels--even after 19 years. How sometimes, even when fully awake, I'll find myself thinking that I need to get home and remember to tell him something.

Yes, even after all this time. I've been told that it never really goes away entirely--it's something you carry with you and get to feel welling up inside you every now and then.

So, this is my Dad--who I miss very much right now.

Now, since I've depressed everyone in this hemisphere, I'd like to share one of the funniest stories about my dad:

*phone rings*

Dad: Hello?

D: No, he's up on the roof.

D: No, she's up there with him.

D: How the hell should I know? I'm down here talking to you.

D: Okay, I'll tell.......OH MY GOD! THEY JUST FELL OFF! CALL BACK LATER! *click*

We'd been getting calls for "Pat" and "Rhonda" since the late 70's, when our town added a second phone exchange. After having answered the "wrong number" for Pat and Rhonda for YEARS, this is how he got the calls to stop for a while. (And this is the inspiration I use when getting a run of calls for one of their boys--Ryan and Mike.)

I heard this conversation for myself--it's not hearsay. He really did say these things, just as they appear here.

See, I really do come by it honestly.

Help!

I'm on the phone and she won't shut up!

A ten minute conversation about the cucumber she just bought is better than a 30 minute story about Squirrel Bait and Loser Boy, BUT it's still more than I care to know--