Things that should be tax deductible but aren’t.
Lacking an in-unit washer and dryer.
Binge-watching Friends at two in the afternoon again, instead of going outside and draining valuable public resources, like museums and libraries.
Taking that one class at the gym that one time in January, and then forgetting you’re a member. Basically you’re giving the gym like, a ton of money.
The brown stuff on your shower curtain liner.
The time you tried to exercise in your apartment but just as you started to do jumping jacks you felt the entire building shake beneath you. Not wanting to single-handedly destroy your pre-war tenement with your monster thighs, you sacrificed your physical well-being to preserve a piece of history.
Forgetting whether or not he used a condom. This puts you at a deficit.
Remembering he did use a condom and sighing in relief as you sip your coffee during that morning meeting with your boss.
That time your boss asked you a question you didn’t quite hear so you just nodded in agreement instead of asking him to repeat himself and then he said, “Great! See you this weekend.”
That cockroach that just shows up in your shower sometimes.
The nightmare you had about getting old and waking up convinced you’re 65. Then taking ten minutes to remind yourself you’re not 65, but you’re still going to die one day.
Dying one day.
Standing in line for a half hour to buy an overpriced quinoa bowl that somehow reminds you how alone you really are.
Replying “thanks, you too!” after your co-worker Shelly wishes you a happy birthday. Her birthday is in September.
Celebrating another birthday.
The automatic toilet that flushed while you were still sitting on it and splashed a little bit of water on your thigh, leaving you feeling dirty for the rest of the day.
The time you hid from Shelly in the printer room because you don’t understand the point of small talk and you never will understand the point of small talk, and also wondering why you can’t face your coworkers like a fully functioning adult and why anyone ever hired you, ever.
Nodding while a stranger at a party tells you they’re a “closeted foodie”.
Getting the flu during your “staycation”.
That chin hair you inherited from your mother that you keep plucking, but it just keeps growing longer and thicker like it saw your future and decided to just give up early.
Finding out you have HPV. Because the “finding out” part feels way worse than actually having it.
The time you threw out a perfectly good jar of mustard because you couldn’t open it and no one stronger than you was around to open it because you are alone.
That homeless guy who takes up four seats on a crowded L train, and when he gets up, no one sits down in his place except you.
Going to an accountant and sitting there patiently while he explains what a “dividend” is using the most layman terms he can muster while you curse yourself for going to a liberal arts college and skipping every business class while wondering if maybe Camus was right all along and aren’t we all just Sisyphus pushing up the Great Rock that is our taxes and why are we pretending to be anything but the animals we really are and what is society and why do we need taxes if we’re all just going to die anyways.
Firing your accountant.