The execution of Saul, from the twelfth- century abbey at Vezelay. This is what I think will happen to me if I made a mistake on my taxes.
Another year, the inevitable nervous breakdown. I don't mind my money going to taxes, although I hate that my earnings will subsidize Halliburton when large corporations are given tax break after tax break. No, I would gladly pay more taxes if that meant universal health care, good education and justice for all my fellow citizens. It's the process of paying taxes that ruins my health and peace of mind. I have a terrible fear that I will by mistake say that I earned 56 cents of interest on my savings account instead of 58. The same night, a SWAT team will break through my window and cart me off to a gulag somewhere in North Dakota where I will be kept and destroyed until one day I am freed, broken and empty, sitting on a park bench somewhere telling myself I love Big Brother.
I know things don't work this way. Is there an identified pathology that describes someone who breaks into a panic whenever he or she sniffs official paperwork?
O IRS! Take my money. Leave my sanity alone.