A few days ago, my mother called me. (After our disastrous attempt at shopping together for a picture frame around Christmas, I haven't spoken to her since then.)
In this phone-call, she said she'd received an official-looking tax letter from The State of New York: "So, how should I get this to you?" (You live 2 miles away from me, Mom. You have a car and I don't. How do you THINK you should get that to me?)
ME: The State of New York? OH... I owe them state tax from when I lived there. I think $800. I already made arrangements years ago to pay them off $25 a month. So what does that letter say? I should be paid off by now!
MOM: It says there is a warrant for your arrest.
ME: WHAT? I've been PAYING them!
MOM: [reading legalese ad infinitum] Oh... The "warrant" indicates that your debt has now been paid.
ME: Well, THANKS for scaring me!
MOM: So, what else is new? Did you get that job? [the downtown job I'd been so excited about]
ME: No, they hired an office-lady with more experience. I was really upset when I didn't get it.
MOM: So, what have you been doing?
ME: I got another temp job; have been doing that, then coming home and doing freelance stuff for a publishing company after hours and on weekends. I'm working something like 60 hours a week; it's exhausting!
MOM: What a great life you're leading.
ME: Yeah, well, it's a lot better than when I was unemployed and lying in bed watching TV and crying all day wishing I were dead.