So, to whoever is out there, and whoever isn't out there, I'm back to that place that I've been many, many times. The place where I'm staying in bed a lot and my room is starting to smell like person--you know, that kind of human odor that hangs in a room when a sick person has been in there too long. I propped open my window and put a screen in to air it out, but I should probably change the sheets too. I'm eating a lot--and I mean--A LOT-- carbohydrates. I seem to be in the cracker stage. For a while I was in the cookie/ice cream stage and then I progressed to the portugese white bread dipped in blood orange flavored olive oil. Yesterday my friend Sarah and I went to Trader Joe's and now I'm in the rice crackers/pita crackers phase. I made a container of raspberry jello and ate most of that, but that's not really many calories, so not very fun.
In addition to my excessive carb eating, it's important to note that I've given up on wearing matching clothes, and am eating mostly in tupperware which is the culinary equivalent of wearing a tee-shirt that is way too big for you. I am trying to keep the dishes at a minimum and not adding up the collection in my room. I do daily trips of dishes back to the sink. Between of all of this, and trying to stay on my game with my clients, I am sleeping a lot with the puppy who is really rolling with it. I find that my time with her in the dog park, now that she's adjusted enough for me to zone out there, is really my best time a day.
I admit that for me, being audited by the IRS and having work dry up, or be at a snail's pace, is one of the worst things that could happen to me. I could deal with physical pain, which I can cope with, and I'm excellent as a broken hearted girl, but money issues cripple me and make me feel like something is sitting on my chest. In some ways, I can be like a financial anorexic and being audited makes me feel like a weak victim.
The reactions to the audit have been interesting as well, and something that I need to write about. I think if I'd told people that I had a disease, there would be exclusively sympathy. I would have done nothing to procure this disease but just been a victim. But, with the IRS audit, there is some suspicion that I've done something wrong and there is a certain amount of not wanting to get to close to me--depending on the person. I had to ask a photographer for a invoice for a photo shoot done years ago and she said the following, "Before I put my neck on the chopping block for you, I need to check with my accountant and my lawyer." The dramatic factor in that sentence was palpable. This photographer, as I'd learned, was almost afraid that being audited by the IRS was like a disease that she was worried about contracting. From most other people, there seem to be three sort of reactions: 1) suspicion that I've done something wrong and finally gotten caught. They'll say, "Oh, I never mess with things like that." or, "Well, I keep excellent records, so I've never been audited." 2) No big deal. "Eh, your accountant takes care of it--it's just money." and 3) Indignation, like "Bernie Madoff stole BILLIONS of dollars and they are going after you?"
I've seen articles that the IRS is increasing the number of small businesses they are going after via audit these days and yet decreasing going after bigger companies. I'm not exactly sure what Joe the Plumber would say about this--or why this is happening. I don't make much money and anything that the government will get from me will be payed in drips and drabs so I hope that no stimulus package relies on my extra contribution.
While my mother certainly didn't raise a victim, I certainly feel like one--and I'm pissed. And, the part of me that is a little scared of the KGB reputation of any government is afraid to really speak out about this, but I'm pissed. I'm pissed because this auditor googled me and needed to know about my life and not just my financial life. I'm pissed because she'll probably just be a fucking straphanger all morning, with her pre-packed lunch in a reused Victoria Secret bag and is probably one of those people who shakes her hand and is "just doing her job". I picture her shaking her head--blameless. What sticks with me is that she googled me--that she's blameless yet interested in peering into my life. I have my annual GYN appointment in October; perhaps I'll send her an invite for the pap smear portion and she can look into my most personal orifice as well.
Between the last paragraph and this paragraph, I climbed back into bed. I ate polenta with tomato sauce and cheese for dinner and chocolate pudding--and now I feel fat and full. Like a sinking ship and I'm starting to wonder what's going on. NOW, after a six weeks of this, I'm STARTING to wonder what's going on. What's wrong with barely doing my work and spending all my time in bed with my dog. My little puppy reminds me constantly that she is putting her energy on a shelf for me, because the second we get out of bed, she jumps around--happy to be free and running.
There is a scene in the movie, American Beauty, after Kevin Spacey is shot when Annette Benning is on her knees in the closet, holding onto his clothes--pulling at them and screaming. The weight of her grasp on the sleeves of clothes is holding her up. Just by looking at her, you can feel the tension in her arms, and the tight grasp of her hands around the arms of his jacket or the thigh of his pants. The cloth bearing the weight of her horror and she clings to it. In that moment, it's all she has, and she lets out a scream-an animal sound that I've made before in pain. And, that scene, frankly, is the best way to describe how I feel now. That I need material to hold me up and to scream a muffled, animalistic cry into patterned clothes. There is barely any work, there is a lover nine blocks away who might as well be 900 miles away and more debt looming in this awful economy. There is fat and fullness keeping me stationary and I'm so short-sighted, that I cannot even appreciate my fortune that I am not in another part of the world--that I am with food, with a home that is not being foreclosed and have a job that I love, though its bearing nearly no fruit now.
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