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And Nekkid Wimmen I just filed my state tax return over the Internet, waiting until today because I owed them, they didn't owe me. The return was done, but there was a file problem that caused me to reload the software and enter the data again. Took a couple of hours (after you deduct the six hours searching for papers, diskettes and CD's) between naps. I don't like preparing taxes, I don't like filing taxes and, in another life, something a little different to fit more pressing circumstances, perhaps, I'd like to blow up an IRS building and maybe track down my elected official and kill his or her family: husband, wife, mother, father, small child Harold and little Louise. Scatter the pitiful little sea shell collections they found at the beach last weekend across their lawn. Kick their dog. Go find their cousins. I'd feel badly, I suppose, but just once I'd like to travel this way as a low down scum sucking son of a bitch who eradicated IRS workers and stomped their flowers into the ground.
That's actually not something that filters through the imagination a lot.
Better sleep, less "soreness", plenty of medicines left. They cut the wire next Friday, one more week, leaving but a couple of "rubber bands", one on each side. A little uncomfortable, but for the first time I'm looking forward to having this time with myself and this apartment. I'm thinking of vacuuming the rug. I know, this isn't registering with anyone reading this, but this is one of my little signs. Things are going all right. Brush off a little dust. Sit in the leather chair just beside the sun line as it creeps through the open door thinking thoughts of coffee and nekkid wimmen. |
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Today with but a journal to write and a bunch of pictures stacked up from
the Sisters party in San Francisco, what's all the fuss? And what's all this
about our federal representatives and their kids? They are all low
down self promoting make a deal with the big guys down at the pool stick
it to the voter and god help you Jackson if you're black sons of bitches,
of course, but who isn't? Nasty little kids with mothers who smoked four
packs a day while they carried to term, feeding them fish sticks which
they had to take out of the freezer and prepare themselves when they
got home from school. April 15, 1999 is done. And I think I am too.