It’s that time again and I have spent a very aggravating day trying to get everything together for tax time.
You wouldn’t think it would be that hard would you?
Henry certainly doesn’t.
All I have to do (he says) is get the info together. The stuff goes to an accountant. It’s not like I have to do the taxes myself.
That would be great. . . if I could stick to filing everything in the same place.
But I can’t.
Every year it’s the same thing. Henry nags me for six weeks about getting the paper work together. I huffily say “I will!” ( sounding a lot like Jesse when asked about when he might clean his room. )
The thing is, my mind tends to go off on a tangent. I can file every thing in the file box (okay chuck them in the box) for 9 months out of the year and all of a sudden I will get some important paper and for some reason decide I should keep it somewhere safe. (that is. . .not in the filing box.) Of course three or four months later, when it’s time to get everything together for tax time, I have absolutely no idea where that safe place is!
And so begins the annual hunt for missing papers. I get miserable, defensive and very aggravated. It doesn’t help when I always end up having to phone someone for another copy of the missing papers.
Because of course that means I’m not very competent.
Which makes me feel stupid
Which makes me mad.
Which makes me furious with Henry for making me do this in the first place! That’s right. . . it’s all his fault!
This year is even worse as I had to spend all afternoon trying to figure out how to use the Excel spreadsheet my brother-in-law Rick made for me to use for my new business.
Still not entirely sure I did it right.When I tried to save it, it said it wasn’t compatible with my older Excel program. Sigh. . . Not sure what to do about that.
It’s 6:30 pm.
We have a home visit from the elders at 7:30 pm
I’m still wearing half my pajamas and in desperate need of a shower (not quite sure why tax time make me sweat, but it does. . .)
Jada hair all over.
Oh well. I did bake a very yummy coffee cake and I figure if I dim the lights and take a quick swipe at the toilet, the elders might not notice the lack of clean (they are men after all. . . . mind you, my dad was a man and dim lights wouldn’t have fooled him for a second!) Wish me luck! And a good night’s sleep. . .