I just took out the tax packet my accountant Vijaya — who by the way specializes in fuck-up artists, and is fantastic if you need a reference — just sent me, and I had a full on panic attack. Now I’m stuck in a loop in front of my computer, unable to leave for the following reasons:
1. I don’t have any clean underwear
2. I don’t have any clean socks
3. I’m afraid to go pick up my laundry because I’m afraid that I don’t have enough money to pay my taxes, and probably shouldn’t spend a dime, not even to pick up my laundry
4. I can’t decide what to eat for lunch
5. I shouldn’t get up from my desk until the workday is over, because I should be looking for ways to make money, not fucking around like a fucking idiot
6. I keep on refreshing the Daily Mail to see if there are any pictures of Kimmy K and Kanye in Paris, where I assume they are thanks to her Instagram feed
7. If I go anywhere I have to take Franke with me because otherwise she will pee on our new carpet
8. It’s a pain in the ass to take her anywhere because she needs like a harness, a leash, an electric collar, a doo doo bag, a treat, and a shocker just walk even just to the fucking flower pot where she pees
9. My hands are shaking
10. I’m having a panic attack again
Please somebody come save me.
