Apparently, declaring oneself a consultant is a Big Fat Hairy Deal to the EDD (California's unemployment
Anyway, I do have business cards and letterhead. They're in boxes in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet, waiting for me to need to print something out. Goddess bless Paper Direct.
Then I spent time on the phone with an investigator from the Stanislaus County public defender's office. I got to answer lots of questions about my involvement with Debbie Rexelle, and about my cats, and as a bonus extra cherry on the sugar-free banana split of my life, I get to be subpoenaed for her trial, which has been rescheduled over and over again, but they currently think will happen in early May.
This is particularly tough because, well, I want to help Debbie, but minimizing contact with lawyers is part of my Grand Plan for Enjoying Life. Also, having to recollect and describe the conditions in which Stanislaus County animal control was keeping the cats infuriated me all over again. I was shaking and hyperventilating by the time the call ended.
Then I spent the rest of the day doing my taxes (pant, pant). I am done. I am getting a huge refund, which was pretty predictable given that I spent 3.5 months of 2001 getting practically no income. I think this will fund getting Capucine home and paying the board bills for her and for Petit Point. If there's anything left, I hurl it in Capital One's virtual face and cut my credit card from them in half. They get too much money from me, and they're too slimy.
The curse word for the day is "sonofabitch". I have applied it equally to banks, forms, Intuit, Micro$oft, the IRS, and Verizon. (I have graduated from having no dial tone to having erratic dial tone and a line so noisy that I can't make out messages left on my answering machine.)
Nonetheless, the laundry is done, and perhaps I will zip into town and give myself a CD as a reward for slog well slogged through.