Tuesday, April 15, 2008

This was not a fun weekend, as I had to deal with the only two certainties out there: Death and Taxes.

Mamasan gave me a serious scare. He's not long for the world; that's for certain. Just not right this minute. We'll see how he is over the course of the week.

Taxes? I'd feel better about paying if I didn't know what went on at work.


Simon Kenton said...

I too am among the tax consumers. In your case, they at least ostensibly work; in mine - I am working on evictions from section 8 housing - there is no pretense of that. As I am often told, I am evicting them because I am a racist. It has nothing to do with drunkenness, dope, violence, hoarding, or any other non-compliance. I wish I could say that the mindstate that equates getting a disability with the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is confined to the lower orders - were it not for the wife of an attorney friend. She regards her disability, which she strove mightily to be awarded, as her 'contribution to the family finances.'

We return you now to our regularly schedule twirling of the mustache, and sinister cachination.

Be said...

Oh dear, that's rough.

The problem with where I work is that, well, if we don't provide housing/treatment/etc, the folks we have would probably end up homeless, in prison or dead so the state does kind of need us.

My gripes mainly are over the incredible mismanagement of resources by people who have gotten themselves in some pretty sweet positions here. I dream of dropping a dime on them at the AG's office, but unfortunately, they're a bit tied up at the moment. As it was explained to another ex-coworker who tried, they're up to their eyeballs in Big Dig audits. Management where I work knows this and takes full advantage.

My goal over the past couple years has been to get myself healthy (both physically and mentally as I have problems in both areas) then get myself out.