So, we are just under six weeks out from that most wonderful time of the year, April 15th. Which, if you live in the United States, you know is the deadline for filing your state and federal income tax forms.
We have people who do that for us, but we have to supply him with certain information, which entails going through the receipts and expenses for the previous year, putting them into some kind of order, and assembling a report so that our number cruncher can crunch the numbers.
On a scale of things I like to do, working on my taxes comes somewhere after root canal and colonoscopy. Because I am technically a small business, married to a working woman, and subject to local fees like TriMet tax, plus Social Security, my submitted form is about the size of Time Magazine ...
Alas, it must be done, else Uncle Sam will knock on the door and that will be bad.
Every year, I tell myself that I will stay on top of it. That each month, I will tally expenses and keep a running total of this, that, and the other; that I will keep my Quicken tax ledger up-to-date, so that come this yearly event, why, I won't have to do anything at all but print it out, attach the organized documentation, and voila! no problem!
Every year, I lie to myself.
So, today begins the process of sorting out that big folder full of crammed-in paper, income statements, W-this and 1099-that, and everything I spent on my office, research, upkeep and all that jazz. It all has to be arranged by date, entered into the tax ledger, sorted into the proper category, and then totaled, printed, and cross-checked before the accountant sees it.
Fortunately, it was a lean year for me, income-wise, and I bought a new computer that will help the write-offs, so maybe I won't owe much. Unfortunately, how much I owe doesn't matter in the actual knee-deep slog along the paper trail. Win, lose, draw, the trip is the same.
Don't call me. I won't be answering the phone today, and if you knock on my door, I will be surly.