Fried Feet

My attempt to capitalize on Charlie's departure as the opportunity to write all hermit-like hasn't quite worked. Because of the snow, school was let out early. And, tomorrow, I have to wait around for a mattress to be delivered. Jess bought one -- the old one is so spent that we dream of sleeping on stormy seas.

But I'm determined to get through this draft. I'm drinking tea and gearing up for another hour or so of editing. TV off. Radio on.

I've been out of money for a few days. For dinner, I sliced some pickles and put them on the sourdough, with mustard and horseradish. Humble and good, but it made me want to eat fried chicken feet.

My tax refund overdue, I checked the IRS website and got an update. They claimed my refund, citing a law that allowed them to do so to if I owed money for child support or to the state or federal governments.

Since I certainly don't owe child support and thought I'd paid all taxes, I was surprised. Surprised, meaning it felt like a brick fell on my head. I needed that money. According to the site, they are sent me a letter today detailing the reasons why my paltry refund got crabbed. We'll see what new joys it brings later this week.