Whatever.

Anne Lamott lists the three essential prayers, according to her, in her book Help, Thanks, Wow.  But when I saw her speak about a year ago, she said, and I’m paraphrasing, that she had not realized until after the book was published that there is a fourth essential prayer, whatever.  (Help, Thanks, Wow, Whatever doesn’t quite have the same ring, so maybe it’s for the best that she didn’t come up with that ‘till later.)

I thought, “Whoa.  How often do I pray that prayer?  ‘Whatever, God. I just don’t get you.’”

For the last few weeks, that has pretty much been the meditation of my heart.  I’m not saying it angrily.  I’m not really pissed at God (well, not about that, anyway).  Just confused.  I just really don’t get him sometimes (OK, almost all of the time).

I had a brutal summer.  For some reason, the grief of widowhood just kicked my ass this year.  Summer is always hard but this one was worse, for some reason.  whatever.

I turned off the last of my online dating profiles today.  I give up.  I’ve had a few ridiculous dates this summer.  Only first dates.  The profiles I see don’t give me much hope that there’s anything better out there.  A man in your age range, with a job, that will have children?  You’re asking way too much, Noel.  whatever. 

Plus, even if I find a guy that ticks off all of my deal breakers, he’ll probably just end up being like the last guy, that technically met all the deal breakers, (and I’ve decided not to use this blog as a platform to say mean things about men I’ve dated and broken up with, but I have nothing nice to say about him at all).  So, without giving details, I’ll just say that if the available men are like him, then I’m content to be single for the rest of my life. whatever.

The whole thing about the “Biological Clock Ticking” that you hear about on the movies?  That’s a real thing.  Only, in the movies they’re always joking about it, and in real life, it’s not funny.  It’s so incredibly stressful.  It’s constantly on my mind.  The pressure that it puts on dating, that it puts on me as I give up dating is so intense.  Whatever.

The IRS just imposed a levy on me, for unpaid taxes from when I owned the salon in 2007.  That whole thing about not needing to keep tax records more than seven years?  That’s not really a thing.  There is actually no statute of limitations for the IRS to come after you.  Turns out my accountant still had my 2007 records, and I had paid but misfiled the 2007 taxes, so we’re getting it figured out, but sheesh.  The stress.  And the hours spent on hold.  The hours spent working on finding files, on re-filing the proper forms.  The feeling that I’m being accused of being dishonest. Whatever.

My parents are moving.  My dad got laid off in March, a victim of the low oil prices.  After the stress of looking for a job for six months, he finally got an offer. (Yay!)  In Montana.  (Boo!)  In my whole life, I’ve lived in a different place than my parents for 4 months.  It was in 1996, when I came back to the states to finish my senior year of highschool and they stayed in Ukraine.  This makes me know that if I could live away from them when I was seventeen and they were in a whole other country then, now, as an adult I’ll be fine, but it just sucks to know that I don’t have them around to bail me out.  Especially as a widow.  They’ve taken up the slack with things that my husband would have handled.  My dad helps me when my car won’t start.  My mom takes care of me when I’m sick.  Whatever.

Don’t get me wrong.  I know that I have things to be thankful for.  In a few days I think I’ll be able to get to where I can think about those things.  But right now, this sucks.  WHAT-EVER!

Isaiah 55:9

For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so my ways are higher than your ways

and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

The Boogeyman

I’ve always been a little afraid of the IRS.  In my mind, they’re this ambiguous, shapeless monster that is always trying to trick you.  I don’t let them make me angry, I always say that taxes are the price that we pay to live in the society that we live in, but I feel a little wary of them.  Like they’re the sort-of scary villain in a child’s fairy tale.

When I first opened my business, I had a very embarrassing encounter with a tax guy.  I think he was from the city.  He came to my shop while I was with a client, and announced that I hadn’t been paying my taxes.  I had, in fact, been paying my taxes.  Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, I had hired an accountant to do this for me, and she would tell me what to do, and I would dutifully mail off checks.  Because I knew so little about the process, this felt like another whole language, that also had a super-secret code, and maybe a handshake.

Tax man:  I know you think you’ve been paying you’re taxes, but do you know about the super duper extra special purple xt39760000 tax?  Have you paid that one?

My armpits immediately drench my shirt.  My heart starts racing.  My throat goes dry. 

Me:  Um, I don’t know.  I don’t know what any of them are called.  I, um, just write checks.

After one phone call to the accountant, where she pulled out my file and deciphered code, it was all worked out.  The IRS had me under two different business names, and even though this was their error, by my estimation, I had to file something saying that I only had the one business, and then it was all good.

So today my mortgage guy informed me that the IRS shows me not having filed taxes for three years, and I didn’t freak out.  I know that I don’t speak their language with the super-secret code, but I also know that I have actually filed taxes and paid money just like I’m supposed to, so it will all work out eventually.  I just wish that it were a little easier (3 IRS phone calls, 114 cel phone minutes, numerous tax documents dug out that were already packed, death certificate reading, which I HATE) because this is seriously making me nervous about my closing date looming on the horizon.  Yikes.  Good thing I paid that purple xt tax.