The stages of tax grief

As we all know, only two things in life are certain. Each year when the time comes, we all begin with denial. "This can't be happening to me." It's okay, there's no need to add feelings of shame to your altogether natural denial of the inevitable. Taxes are part of the human condition, and it's important to move on to the next stage in the process, anger.

Yes, even anger is okay. "It isn't fair, and someone is to blame." Raging, toxic, judgmental, irrational, hateful, venomous anger is normal at a time of loss of approximately 30 percent of your annual income for the privilege of living in a militaristic imperialist capitalist welfare state in which pompous congressional lap dogs spend trillions to prop up the plutocrats who really run the world. Feel better?

Moving right along to the bargaining stage, "I'll do anything to get out of this." Such as, let your spouse handle it; hire an accountant; go underground, assume a different identity, and live off the grid; file separately; get an extension. The advantage of bargaining is that at least it acknowledges the need for action and considers the consequences. As in, oh shit, this is gonna cost me plenty.

Which brings me to Mr. Depression Stage: "There's nothing I can do about this or much of anything, so what's the point?" (Sorry, I have no appropriately witty response to this.)

Finally, much later in the game than would have been rational, one reaches a point of Acceptance: "I can do this." One opens the folder containing miscellaneous records, receipts, stubs, letters, year-end statements, and other documents. One begins to sort them into neat categories, jotting down subtotals and totals as needed. One categorizes items according to the requirements of the institutional procedures, and one fills in the blanks with plausible numbers that can be documented. One bites the bullet. One stays up late if necessary to git er done.