DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Tick, tick, tick ... April 15th is coming!

Tick, tick, tick, tick. Tick, tick, tick.
That's the sound of the atomic clock in the lobby of the Internal Revenue Service counting greedily down to midnight, April 15 -- Zero hour of "T", as in tax, Day.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
That's the sound of the sweat rolling off my forehead as I try desperately to eke an extra penny out of the stained shirt I gave to the Goodwill last year. I previously considered such donations trivial, and recorded them simply as "two bags, misc." -- buck and a half.
Devilish details: But now, thanks to my new tax software program, and the fact that for the first time in my life I OWE, I am persuaded to quantify my altruism. One dress shirt -- fair condition, $7. Pair of lady's slacks, good condition, $12. One yo-yo, 10 cents. A doughnut, negligible. Who the heck put a doughnut in that bag?!
Zaaaaa.
That's the sound of my brain as it clicks into data entry, no thought, mode, as I use my Tax Cut software program. Tax Cut takes my data from last year's return, loads it into this year's, then asks me simple questions.
I don't even need to know my name and address. I like that. I am too busy knowing that I owe taxes to think about anything else.
What I know: Tax Cut asks me if I qualify for various credits. I know that I am not blind. Good. Next. I know that I am not a farm worker. Good. Next. I do not know if I qualify for a foreign tax credit. Tax Cut tells me I probably don't. I can probably select, "NO." Good. Next.
Flip, flip, flip, flip, flip ... 8,920 times.
That's the sound of someone leafing through the current tax code -- someone other than me and others doing their taxes, of course. Who would have time to look at the actual code, anyway? Americans spend 6.1 billion hours just working on their returns. I have spent eight hours, so far.
Brrrring, brrring, brrrring.
That's the sound of one of the 100 million people who get in touch with the Internal Revenue Services every year, either by phone, mail, or in-person visits.
"Welcome to the Internal Revenue Service. Para continuar en Espanol..." is the sound of the extremely friendly taped voice, meant to convince you that the IRS is now kinder and gentler, heard when dialing (800) 829-1040, before embarking on the first of several push-button menu options.
738: That's roughly the number of forms and helpful instruction pamphlets the IRS offers for your use in preparing your taxes. I have used as many as 20 at a crack. I do not have a goal for greater usage.
16: That's the number of the amendment that instituted the federal income tax, ratified in February 1913.
Cha-ching, Cha-ching.
That's the happy clinking sound of the cash registers in the tax preparers' offices as they prepare the returns for almost 29 million U.S. citizens -- steel workers, journalists, teachers, brain surgeons, nuclear physicists, and rocket scientists -- who feel completely ill-equipped to fill out their own tax forms.
Honk, honk, honk.
Race is on: Hear the horns honk and the tires screech as about 35 million last-minute filers race to the post office -- "Get out of my way! Get out of my way!" -- to be good citizens, to give approximately $300 billion to the Pentagon, $40 billion to Health and Human Services, $34 billion to education, $28 billion to housing and urban development, $18 billion to justice, $13 billion to NASA and $7 billion to environmental protection.
Click, click, click, click.
That's the sound of my high-heel pumps clicking on the linoleum en route to the payroll office where I will change my withholdings on my W-4 forms. My goal, as my father has insisted, is to not owe a penny and not get a refund! "Don't let those #^$ & amp;* borrow your money for a year without interest!"
murphy@vindy.com