Knots in the stomach

Just got my W-2's for my job, which isn't generally a cause for gut-wrenching fear, but when you're me, and for the past two years have owed taxes due to being generally clueless about not withholding enough, it is enough of a reason to feel your stomach flip over and start vibrating.

Please, God, let us have gotten it right this time. Or right enough - I don't care about paying fifty bucks in taxes, or something like, but if it's another big hit I don't know how we're going to deal with it. I think I still have a W-2 due from the 'Mart, and Bemo needs his, and then we can do the taxes and find out.

Meanwhile, I will sit quietly here and do my best not to throw up on my shoes.

Reopening doors

Because of the current wave of waaaangst rolling over me at the moment, I've decided to reopen my old journal, Andare, Partire, Tornare. I locked it up a few months ago, letting my gold membership lapse and accidentally (fuck fuck fuck) deleting my spiffy layout that I had working over there, because I wasn't updating it and had sort of lost the desire to post anything over there that I couldn't post over here.

Well, I've discovered that just as it felt weird to squee over hot guys in that journal, it feels a little odd for me to bitch and fuss and doubt myself and throw endless pity parties over here in this space. Thus, the reopening. I'm not telling anybody to read it (although some may be interested in a trawl through the archives, I suppose), but it's unlocked and once again open to the world - until, I suppose, I change my mind again and lock it in a fit of paranoia and exsistential terror.

Or something.