"Are you working?" my mother demanded. "Because it sounds like you're just playing."
"How would you know?" I replied with a sigh.
"Because every time that I talk to you, you are doing something with your friends, going somewhere and spending money."
"I suppose it can seem that way," I answered, "but I had to write a check to the IRS. Writing the check wasn't so bad but subtracting the amount from the balance hurt like hell."
She was silent for a moment.
"I had to write them one too," she finally said.
We compared amounts.
Mine was bigger than hers.
"Apparently I made too much money last year," I concluded though I really have no idea how this is possible.
I did travel more last year than I ever have and Delta rewarded me by downgrading my status from Platinum to Gold. My overhead is low but my taxes are high. I think of the Major prophet George Harrison who explored the subject thoroughly.
Yeah, I'm the taxman and you're working for nobody but me.
It's funny because Government is where the money is these days. I make money telling people that, and telling them how to get some. Ever since the economy tanked, Government has grown like crazy. Let's be honest though, it started growing under Reagan and Obama has perfected Reaganism in terms of debt management.
So taxes go up. Democrats are blatant about it. Republicans lie about it. Both increase taxes.
This morning I'm sitting here with a depleted checking account, working on finding more work, and taking inventory of what's not taxed ... at least yet.
The sun is beautiful and the weather is warm. A choir of birds are singing Hymns. Fran's thousand shades of green sparkle in radiance. Flowers are blooming in yellows. purples, reds and whites. Love fills this house. I have just a few friends who are just enough. My children are healthy and apparently happy. I'm alive and kicking and full of dreams.
"What's your next job?" my mother demands.
"Well," I ponder as I answer, "I'd like to enjoy things. I haven't done enough of that."
Exasperated, she says, "You have to make money!"
A light breeze blows across my body.
"Yeah," I slowly sigh.
"For who?" I finally reply.
It strikes me that God is the author of all of the untaxed glory that I'm enjoying this morning.
