Oh my gawd! How is it they get put off until the last minute every year? My accounting is about as organized as particles in a linear accelerator. If numbers ever hit the page in order a whole universe could form in the process. It does say right on the tax form “…to the best of my knowledge and belief, they are true, correct and complete.” I take that to mean as truthful as a dyslexic artist with no left brain skills can manage so I sign with complete confidence. There are alternate ways to ensure accuracy though. My sister checks her statements with a pendulum. But first she channels an old accountant in a green visor who actually adds columns of numbers correctly. Clearly he doesn’t visit me; if I’m channeling anyone they’re probably squatting in the dirt hacking notches in a post with a piece of shale.
There are other problems too, like the mysterious fading cash register tapes, undocumented before the ink disappeared of course. There are the bags of receipts rounded up from under car seats, the recesses of my wallet or the ones shoved rapidly in drawers so it looked like I actually did some housework. They should have been sorted long before I forgot which was business or personal. Some of them were stuck together with paint, which is at least proof of my profession even if I can’t read the purchase dates. Can I deduct sleeping in my car from the auto column? I have never understood why record keeping feels like torture. Can anyone explain this?
Excel is cryptic enough to turn the calmest people into howler monkeys on crack. A short break from the tedium of shuffling papers might easily include breaking furniture, wailing like the recently damned or signing the tax form with sunshine and a magnifying glass. Which gives me an idea for an art project, after all there’s still time get this stuff sorted and isn’t the end of the world predicted again soon? I’ll get back to it later. I’m sure the IRS will understand.
Meanwhile I’ve developed a system that is more accurate than my brain.