Me, Kafka and the IRS
This story is so anxiety provoking and preposterous I am not sure where to even start.
How about I came home from picking friends up at the airport and my companion Jeff came trotting over to where we three were getting out of the car suitcases, bags, broken umbrellas, just all kinds of things, me anxious to begin with. I wanted my friend to like the house I presently live in with my first real boyfriend. His house. The house he lived in with his wife who has been dead for close to five years.
Anyway we were making our way with the paraphernalia to the house when Jeff holds out two things: a tag saying flowers had been left next door for me from 1-800 flowers and an envelope with my name, Lesley Geary written in script across the front. No address. Just the single line with my name. The return address was from the Internal Revenue Service in West Nyack, NY. So I quickly opened the envelope from the IRS and lo and behold there was a note saying I was not at home when IRS agent Blank Blank came to my house and to please call …the part for come in to the office was scratched out and I was quickly processing call the office. It was now 6:00 PM on Friday and too late to call the IRS.
I could not take it in. Flowers, the IRS coming to my house. I kept asking my companion Jeff if this was some sort of sick joke. No he assured me he had gone to the house just five steps ahead of me and these two things both for me were at the front door. There was also a neat little pamphlet on my rights regarding the IRS.
Now I will back track for you.