Story of the day 4/ 4/ 2014

It is 12:06 AM.
Friday morning, although, it is only technically morning, since the sun won't rise for many hours.
I have been to bed.
The problem is that it didn't last very long, my being in bed.

I got home from work at about 10:46 PM.
I checked my email and my cell phone.
I had to check my cell phone because I had accidentally left it at home when I went off to work.
This was especially stupid of me because I drive home alone at night and it is nice to have that little bit of security- a cell phone to use in case of a flat tire or some other mishap.

At any rate, I checked it and found my cousin had called 3 times in 20 minutes.
And had not left a message.
There were no texts.
In other words, I hadn't missed much.
My email was similarly not stressful. A couple of short emails from friends.

So, I started going through my regular bedtime routine.
I took my pills, the stuff that keeps my joints from making loud creaking noises and the pink pills that keep me from having an asthma attack.
I checked to see if the laundery I had thrown into the machine before I left the house was done, or if it was still damp.
Then I went to get ready for bed, to brush my teeth and to put on my cookie monster pajamas.
Okay, I lied. I am actually wearing plaid, tonight, because cookie monster is in the dryer.

That is when I found it.
The unpleasant note that my husband had left me.

My husband is not unpleasant.
The note was.

I need to exlain.
My husband and I are those two ships that pass in the night, except, we are usually in two cars passing as he pulls in from work and I head out.
We do this twice a week, because that is how our Tuesday and Thrsday schedules work.
As a result, our communications on those days are largely via notes left on the bathroom mirror.
Often they say things like, "Do you want me to set the alarm for 7:15 or 7:30?"
Because I carpool, but not every day, there is often some confusion as to how early i need to leave the house, and the 15 minute adjustment is reflected in this.

Or it will say, " Dinner was delicious."
When it says that, I either have to worry that he needs me to do a favor for him,
or he is eating something that came frozen-ready-made.

Sometiems it will say that our son called, or some other thing that he or I missed.

But , tonight's note was unpleasant.

It was unpleasant because, today, we had a piece of mail .
From the State of Indiana.
From the Department of Revenue of the State of Indiana.
About our state income tax.

I filed, some weeks ago, for our refund.

They did get it.
But they do not like it.
They didn't like our tax return.
Apparently, they reviewed it and found that we had inappropriately claimed a credit that we did not deserve.
As a result, we owe the state several thousands of dollars.
Payable in the next two weeks.

They are willing to accept a charge card.

I read the details.
I check each line that they have reviewed.
I fnd the error.
They say it is Schedule 5.
We have, according to them, no credits from Schedule 5, despite the fact that we claimed them.

I did our taxes.
In other words, I have messed up, somehow.
Although, for such a large mount?
Even I am not that stupid.

I go back to the computer in my not-cookie-monster pajamas.

I open up the tax file.
Fortunatly, I still remember the password.

I locate Schedule 5.
Scheduel 5 is the information taken directly from my husband's W2 form.
I didn't even type it in, Turbo Tax downloaded that info from the internet.

It is not some error I have made, it is information from his employer.
But, according to the State of Indiana , my husband did not have state income taxe withheld from his pay. Either that or it was withheld, but not given over to the state.
I am not totally sure what to think.

My first thought is that we ned to xerox his W2, and submit it with an appeal.
Obviously, some idiot at the State misread his W2 form.

But then I start to wonder if his employer didn't actually send the withheld money to the State.
I mean, it could have been embezzled- stolen.
This seems like a rather neurotic thought except that the last time we had an unpleasant series of letters from the tax people ( that time being the federal ones) it was because someone where I work
- well, where I had previously worked-
had used my identy to steal money and claim I had earned it and owed taxes on it.

We have also, about 17 years ago, been the victims of actual embezzlement.
Also perpetrated by someone from work.
So, I am neurotic, but not without reason.

I wrote out a note to my husband explaining where the "error" was,
and what we needed to do about xeroxing the W2;
and I taped it up on the bathroom mirror next to the note my husband had left for me.
And I went to bed.

I lay down.
I put my head on the pillow, and closed my eyes.

That was about 15 minutes ago.
15 very long minutes of wondering what will happen , next.