In Which I Give the IRS the Biggest Mental Hug They’ve Ever Seen


Did you feel that? I’m certain you did. A thunderous quaking, a bone-shaking vibration that doesn’t-quite-register as sound. Perhaps it roused you from a your deep, late-Saturday-morning slumber. You sat upright in your bed, nerves still twitching in sympathy with the fading rumbles.

“What was that?” you asked to the suddenly still room. It flickers through your mind that it was all a dream, some shudder-and-shake nightmare your malicious subconscious tossed at you just to watch you pop awake, clawing at your sheets, fear and confusion warring in your sleep-riddled mind.

But it wasn’t a nightmare. Oh no, it happened. And if you feel an inexplicable bubble of contentment, of joy, sitting somewhere behind your breastbone now, that’s simply the result of the tremor.

Because this morning, an explosive shout, a joyful Thu’um, erupted from me and rocked the very fabric of space-time.

Karla1 and I have been reunited, my galleons. My heart is currently frolicking about my chest like the happiest animated deer in the magical forest.

Yes, the universe finally saw fit to gift me with the first (and heftiest) of my tax returns, which allowed me to correct the grievous wrong of the last five months and once again become the happy owner of an iPod.

This may mean little to you, but to me, this is the best thing that has happened all month. Things have been a bit rocky lately, but by all the science gods, I have my music again. No longer am I at the whims of the radio station witches, the top 40 lists, or that asshole Dan who turns the work radio to country when I’m not paying attention. No, it is my turn to subject them all to a terrible onslaught of my bizarre music tastes.

No longer shall my headphones sit sadly unused on my desk. No longer shall my walks between classes be full of the sounds of traffic and birds and inane prattling from the idiots I pass. No longer will I have to forgo reading during my lunch breaks because I can’t drown out the sounds of my coworkers.

My friend John once told me that he’d never met a person who listened to music as much as I did. He used to comment that my headphones must be stuck in my ears at least 12 hours of every day. To have that so unceremoniously ripped from me has left a void over the last few months that I have never stopped noticing.

No longer.

Give me your music, world. I am once again your conduit, your prophet, your devoted servant.


1 In the same way that all my laptops have been called Ghiert, all of my iPods have been named Karla. It’s tradition.

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