Murphy's Law, Taxes and The Way I Am

There's a full moon outside tonight, and that may explain why I had a rough day. Don't even get me started on superstitions coz I do believe in a lot of them! My official outlook on life is pessimistic; but this only concerns my life, I'm optimistic when it comes to other people. Murphy's law was in effect today. Had a slow start this morning due to the weird hazy effect from the sleeping pills I took last night after work. After a shower and a hot mug of coffee, I was ready to face the world. My sis and I ran some errands in the neighborhood then headed to an afternoon appointment with my CPA to get taxes done. I penda this dude coz he got me a healthy return last year; his experience includes a decade working for the IRS. On my way there, I realize that I don't have the folder that has the W2s and a book I was carrying. I'm usually a calm person but I just went into panic mode. I felt like crying and shouting at the same time. Where the hell was the red folder?

We had just been to Safeway to get a sandwich and I remembered placing my folder and book on the counter as I reached into my purse for some money. We had to backtrack instantly--I called the Safeway no. on the receipt--and of course it's one of those annoying automated voice systems--I finally get through to a human being and I describe the folder I misplaced. Thankfully, someone found it and kept it safely. So we go back and collect it. I was very relieved to find everything intact but I was also pissed off coz now I have to rearrange my work schedule so I can get another appointment with the tax guy. I have so many plans for that refund and it may even buy me a ticket home this year. I know I've got to keep things in perspective and look at the bigger picture and all that, BUT sometimes when one thing goes wrong, everything else comes to the surface. Fuck taxes and the whole system in this country! I'm not being entirely rational here, but please humor me. Of course governments have to collect taxes for public services, etc, and it seems reasonable that if you make more, then you should pay more, right? Not necessarily, the extremely wealthy get all kinds of tax breaks and incentives which will increase with time courtesy of Bush and co. Then there are those who are collecting certain benefits that it's not very profitable to put in more than 20 hrs of work per week. Those in the middle really feel the squeeze.

I'm glad I didn't run into anyone with odd questions today coz I would have unleashed some bad vibe. I really get tired of having to explain everything about my life, my country, my accent, and even my hair to random people I run into. Usually, I just grin and bear it coz the conversation may be the only history and geography lesson on Kenya that some people will ever have (note to Pala who says some Kenyans abroad are not representing the country well). The routine usually start when a person tries to pronounce my surname and gets a quizzical look on their face, then asks where I'm from, how I got here, seems surprised that I "speak English so well!" I proceed to confirm that Kenya is not next to Nigeria, English is official, I did grow up there, I didn't have to escape a war, thankfully my family is not starving, it really isn't a huge desert, I am not used to 100 degree heat, I'd starve if I had to run for a living, I choose to keep my hair in a natural afro, I don't know any cannibals, and yes, I've heard all about Jesus--I could teach you a thing or two. Eminem's song "The Way I Am" just expresses my exact feelings when I'm angry; just let me be who I am!

Anyhow, I get back home and decide to cook a healthy meal: ugali, spinach, and some liver. I may not be the world's greatest chef but I can do the basics; after all, I've had years of practice. Both my peroz have the skills. My mother's chapatis are famous in our family. And my Dad (unlike most men in his generation) can confidently enter the kitchen and prepare a mouth-watering meal. Thanks to him, I can cook ugali ya mahindi na ya wimbi equally well. My siblings inherited most of those cooking skills. I wasn't the only girl threatened with the classic lines, "nobody will marry you if you can't cook" or "your husband/in-laws will throw you out if you serve a half-cooked meal." My comeback which I still hold to this day:"maybe I won't get married." Well, one can't deny the power and pleasure of a well-cooked meal (guys take note!); once you move away from home and your on-campus cafeteria you realize it's an essential life skill. (Although I hate the idea of spending my entire life in the kitchen.) Well, I decided to bake a cake too: eggs, butter, cake mix & some water then popped it in the oven. I got caught up cutting the onions and frying the vegez so the cake burned. Then I burned some onions and had to throw them out. Finally it all came together. I sipped on a glass of chilled merlot before we sat down to enjoy the meal. It was a success and I felt better afterwards. Well, I've had worse days for sure but it's rare when I reach the melting point and feel like I have no control. The best laid plans of mice and men....Politics in Kenya remain entertaining, the plot thickens: mercenaries/businessmen, loans, govt. officials, the whole thing is a mess and they all have a responsibility. And is parliament still in recess? I could use a 5 month vacation right about now. My reality: I need to review my notes for a Philosophy mid-term tomorrow and get some sleep:)