I've lived too long -- the taxes will kill me

It's TAX TIME. First, bring out the “Brown Box.” The box arrived in 1956 containing seat covers for the Renault we drove then. Ever since, it has been “The Tax Box.”

Every Tax Document I have received in the mail since January has been sequestered therein. Now it is time to decide. I have a new roof on my Mobile Home...seems like the tax on that should be enough when added to the other deductibles. I add everything in that category......and I hope. All of the statements of income for 2008 have been stashed in the box as they arrived.

Today is my appointment with the “Tax Lady.” Because I am now walking with two canes, I put the Brown Box in a plastic bag with handles so I can carry it. When I arrive at the address, there is always a “handicapped” parking space right at the end of the walkway. I carefully make my way along the twisted path to her office.

I barely get inside the door when she invites me into her office. After I sit down, I open the Brown Box and begin handing her all the papers. Then I introduce the paper itemizing all my deductions. I held my breath as she scanned them, added the ones that could count, then told me,

“I am sorry but there just isn't enough to do any good.” Under my breath or just in my head I exclaimed, “Oh, damn!” Well, at least I had tried.

She click...click...clicked away on her computer keyboard, and I waited for the hammer to fall. I usually receive a small ($50 or so) refund from our state, although I didn't expect anything this year. California is broke. I expected to pay a few hundred dollars to the IRS. Finally, she began to explain what I had in store for 2008.

I would have to pay “Arnold” over a hundred for his foibles. I know from the media that he has gotten California into one he-- of a mess. Then the hammer fell. I have lived too long.

When I retired from teaching, I was only supposed to live twenty more years.....I have. Now she tells me my retirement funds have run out and I must pay all the tax on the money I am mooching from Uncle Sam. This year over 3x previous years. That glove landed square in my solar plexus.

I left her office depressed and downtrodden. The errands I intended to do on this trip were washed right out of my head. I got back out on N. Texas Street and made my way home. My son would have to take the car for gas and to pick up the Meatball Pizza we were having for dinner.

I will pick up the Tax papers when they are ready. I will make out the necessary checks to pay for living here. I will take the envelopes to the Post Office myself to be sure they are on their way. I will do all that because I am a citizen of the USA..,,a too-old citizen of the USA. Then I will go home...to do whatever until I “walk into the light”.....”swim with the fishes”.....or step through the veil into..... What?