Journal of the Corona Year
5/08 - Well That’s a Relief
Sometime earlier this week, I can remember when, I checked my mail. Among some unnecessary things was a letter from the IRS. This bothered me. Why was the IRS writing to me in early May? I’m not rich after all. I’m the kind of person they might audit.
Nervously I opened the envelope. The letter was printed on a thin piece of nearly transparent paper. It felt cheap. My eyes were immediately assaulted by the huge, bold, pointy signature of Donald Trump. So I realized what it was. It told me what a great job was being done in Washington on my behalf and I would soon be receiving $500 or something by direct deposit.
So that’s it? The crisis has been at full-swing for approximately the past two months, and all I get is $500? If I was in need I would be happy for anything, but it really wouldn’t solve any problems.
Furthermore, why am I even getting this? I didn’t request it. So far I am still employed. It seemed to me like this money could go to some better use. Donald, you will have to try harder to buy my vote.
The next day I looked up the IRS’s COVID-19 page to see how to refuse it. There is no way to refuse. I will have to wait for the deposit to be made, write a check to the IRS for the total amount and mail it back to them. Writing a check to the IRS never feels good.
I really wish I had kept that letter. I didn’t even take a picture of it. I put it directly in the recycling bin.
So this happened sometime earlier this week. Possibly Tuesday or Wednesday. Why am I writing about it now? Because time seems to be slipping away from me. Hours melt away. This quarantine must have me operating at some lethargic speed. I’m writing this at 12:20 on Saturday morning and I have no idea how it got to be so late.