I can't quite get used to these...titles.
I woke up in a cold sweat this morning realizing that I don't have a physical copy of my 2003 taxes. Tony and I have to register to have the conditions removed from his permanent residence status on March 2nd, and we have done nothing to prepare [I thought].
I crawled out of bed and got on the immigration website to print out the forms we need. I was so panicked that they were going to want tax information for the last three years [as they did when we filed for his conditional permanent residency]. All I could think about was having to call the IRS and ask for a copy and how much would that cost? How long would it take? Would they audit me on the spot? Surely this would all end in me being sent straight to prison. Oh my god. I'd better go take a shower, they'll be here any minute. All my tax woes dissipated, however, when I noticed the forms we need to file cost $1,300. Oh. Tears and panic. Tony rushed out of bed - What happened? Didn't you sleep well? and I just pointed at the screen.
But then we scrolled down.
And we found the real forms we are supposed to file.
The ones that cost under $300 and don't even demand one year's worth of tax information, let alone three.
This immigration stuff will be the end of me, I'm sure. It will cause my Final Meltdown which will inevitably result in my Final Hospitalization. I had never known fear and paranoia in such terrifying and pure forms before we started this whole process. And. No matter what we have to do, no matter what we have to file with them - be it adjustment of status or something stupid and simple, like changing our address - it all comes back. I'm a mess. I'm shaky. I'm snippy. The world's immigration offices and customs officials are out to get me. They want to catch me. Nothing would make them happier than my sadness. See? Fuck. Didn't you just see that guy with the camera? He had a badge, didn't he?? He took my picture, didn't he??
Oh dear.
I crawled out of bed and got on the immigration website to print out the forms we need. I was so panicked that they were going to want tax information for the last three years [as they did when we filed for his conditional permanent residency]. All I could think about was having to call the IRS and ask for a copy and how much would that cost? How long would it take? Would they audit me on the spot? Surely this would all end in me being sent straight to prison. Oh my god. I'd better go take a shower, they'll be here any minute. All my tax woes dissipated, however, when I noticed the forms we need to file cost $1,300. Oh. Tears and panic. Tony rushed out of bed - What happened? Didn't you sleep well? and I just pointed at the screen.
But then we scrolled down.
And we found the real forms we are supposed to file.
The ones that cost under $300 and don't even demand one year's worth of tax information, let alone three.
This immigration stuff will be the end of me, I'm sure. It will cause my Final Meltdown which will inevitably result in my Final Hospitalization. I had never known fear and paranoia in such terrifying and pure forms before we started this whole process. And. No matter what we have to do, no matter what we have to file with them - be it adjustment of status or something stupid and simple, like changing our address - it all comes back. I'm a mess. I'm shaky. I'm snippy. The world's immigration offices and customs officials are out to get me. They want to catch me. Nothing would make them happier than my sadness. See? Fuck. Didn't you just see that guy with the camera? He had a badge, didn't he?? He took my picture, didn't he??
Oh dear.
posted by inveil | 10:41 AM
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