the tax man cometh...

Yes, that's right, the tax man cometh and his name is Bubba. Bubba carries a big shiny machete and chews 'baccer. He's gonna cut our heads off and spit down our throats while he laughs at old re-runs of Hee-Haw and Dukes of Hazzard. *sigh* We haven't done our taxes yet. Why? Well, for starters, we have no money and really, why prolong the agony? One quick cut is how I prefer to be slaughtered. We'll probably do them Friday night. Without children, you pay, you pay, you pay. It doesn't matter how little you made...you pay. No amount of philanthropy or itemization has ever helped us. We have the max taken out of our checks. *cheerfully whistling* Whatever. La, la, la, la, la. Denial, denial, denial. Next subject.

I get to see one of my two great mentors tomorrow after work. She is a medical psychologist who works with people living with HIV/AIDS and she agreed to be interviewed for a little research paper I'm doing. Her son died of AIDS several years ago, so she knows the anguish of AIDS up close. By turning her own wounds into a wellspring of compassion, she has become an invaluable advocate and really puts her heart into caring for those who are struggling with the disease. I've always admired her ability to part the seas of bureaucratic bullshit and return her focus to the important work at hand. It's good to have people like that in your life who are brave and strong enough to walk the path the way it should be walked. She's not perfect, but you can usually count on her to have her priorities in order.

Tonight I have class, BUT I vow to NOT put money in the snack or Coke machines. The social work building has the most notorious money-eating snack machines in the known universe. Tonight, I rebel!