Tax day is maybe the single most stressful day of the year for those with ADD. First, you get the “Why did you wait until the last minute?” questions from well-meaning friends (because I didn’t find the paperwork until yesterday, okay?).
I tried to file online. We couldn’t agree, so I printed out the forms and filled them in.
Then I tried to mail my taxes, I really did. But I didn’t realize that the downtown post office wasn’t staying open until midnight the way it always did, nor did they have the friendly people on the sidewalk who always took your envelope when you drove past.
No, this time, there was some huge clusterfuck out on Chestnut Street. There were traffic cones dividing the four lanes, and you were permitted to doublepark in two of them while you ran into the building to mail your taxes.
The thing is, through the glass windows, you could see hundreds and hundreds of tense-looking people standing in a line that wound all through the building. Why were they in line, you ask? I don’t know, but I suspect they had no other option, because there’s no way in hell I’d be standing in a long line like that if I didn’t have to.
So I made an executive decision. I drove home to my little local post office (which, by the way, doesn’t empty the collection box until noon) and deposited my taxes. Then I drove to the Wawa, bought a cream doughnut and inhaled it, because my overloaded brain was screaming, “Carbs! Fat! Sugar!”
I don’t know how much they’ll charge me in interest just because I’m one day late, but I don’t care anymore.