I get very cranky once a year. It’s not the bad mood as a result of a disappointment or heartburn; it’s another level of nasty. I bear the weight of bad choices. I am the burden, the cause, the driver. I have only myself to be angry at, and that makes me even crankier. Confronting my taxes–and the receipts that prove to me that I should really listen to my Mother–is my least enjoyable task as it brings out my least positive self. The only silver lining is that I am meticulous about collecting and categorizing everything, so it’s quite organized. Laborious, yes. But everything is in its place. Everything is alphabetizing, every receipt is filed under it’s month, and each of those sections are sorted by date. Everything corresponds to the bank statements, everything adds up, everything is there for me to see that I cannot seem to save a dime.
It really puts me in the worst mood. And then like every bad mood of mine, it passes. The taxes get filed. And I say goodbye to another year providing for my family, indulging in our whims, and having a good time doing so.
Money, it’s a gas.
More on a Day Without Women.
The Great Advocate of Women, my friend Amy Richards: “My focus since the election has been both on protecting in very real ways those who need shelter, legal counsel, and money; and holding accountable anyone who led us in this direction.”
A 5 Year-Old Girl Channelled 28 Iconic Women in honor of Black History Month.
When you’re a homeless aboriginal woman and your anonymous friend nonimates your poetry for a literary prize that awards 165,000 dollars.
Your libido, my libido, we all libido.
And now have a laugh with Ellen Cleghorne.