I'm not done being mad, or sad, or disappointed, I let it all be carried over into today. I went home and faked being sick and fell asleep in my la-z-boy.

Monica's perscription was refilled and she was much happier, but I wasn't ready to feel better yet.

Monica was off onto tangents about the death penalty, kitten enclosures and pediatric appointments. I sulked.

My one hour commute felt longer than usual; that's because the car radio suddenly stopped working.
typical.
It could be an omen... but it's probably just a blown fuse. Either way, I sang Paul McCartney - Wings/Beatles songs to myself.

My co-worker Todd made it into work for the first time this week, worked for four hours, then went home. I spent the majority of my day tracking down W-2's and 1040's from two or three years ago.
Why?
Because; of all the people in the world, I am the one who has the simplest taxes to figure out. I don't own anything, I have no investments, my 1040 is

my income - the standard deduction = a small refund

It never changes, because my situation never changes. But the letter from the IRS says I screwed up a couple of years ago... they want an $800 check.
I know the odds aren't in my favor that the IRS miscalculated the dollars and cents of my life.

I called Monica during my lunch, to ask her some questions about the IRS letter... then I blew up, actually I didn't blow up, I became unravelled. I unravelled about money, and why it is that when I earn a bonus, it's not extra money... it's not a nest egg, it's not a reward. It's one tiny kibble that we throw to the pack of ravenous wolves. "When do we get balance and direction?" When are we going to invest into retirement? Right after we get a buy a house, which happens right after we get a car, after we pay our student loans, which happens right after we resolve our bancruptcy, which happens right after Monica goes back to work, which happens right after Katie begins kindergarten.
I don't like that equation.

Then Monica says... "You mean you just want me to get just any job?"

"Everybody takes the best job they can get.", I respond like Confuscious.

"Doesn't it matter if I'm happy? You have a job you like... I deserve the same."

"I-uh...I, uh....." Confuscious is stumpped.

"I want to get a student loan, and persue a Masters Degree, or a Teaching Certificate... er something."

I'm still not done being mad, or sad, or disappointed.

"Still directionless."

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