Musings from the Tax Office

About to have an anxiety attack at the tax office. My daughter is behaving herself better than I am. I'm fidgety, whiny, close to vomiting; my vision is going fuzzy and the complimentary packet of trail mix I have in my hand is about to become a weapon. They have toys for my daughter to play with here, but none for me. No adult toys whatsoever. After 2 long long hours of wasted life that would be better spent editing my novel, i could really use an adult toy right now - if you catch my drift. If all the adults shooed the kids away for a minute and just started masturbating here this place would be a lot more cheerful and a lot less suffocating. What if I organize a great big circle jerk right here right now? Ew. No one here is remotely attractive enough for that. And the internet on my phone isn't working in here. The only thing that might be keeping me sane is March of the Penguins, which is playing on repeat on the TV in the corner. The penguins' dramatic struggles are making me think waiting in this room is really not a big deal. Or maybe the movie is soon going to make me realize waiting in this room is in no way contributing to the world's grand scheme of things and I should run out of here and move to Antartica (why is my phone telling me Antartica is spelled wrong?!) where my every move will be of utmost importance and everything I do will be a matter of life and death.