I’m in the middle of taxes and fear imprisonment more than death at this moment.
I have spectacular number skills and love math. My problem is not the math. It’s the instructions. Way back when I was getting A’s in algebra and thinking about majoring in math in college, I hit those, “One train leaves the station at noon going forty-miles-an-hour” problems. I could never understand them. As soon as I saw one, my brain shut down and every synapse dashed away in search of a simple x + y problem. My friend who teach math tell me they are easy to do. You just make a chart and plug in numbers. I missed that somehow and, back when I was in high school, one did not go in for tutoring.
So I majored in Spanish.
George always did the taxes when we were married. Before we were married and I was in grad school and living on $40/week, I didn’t pay taxes because I thought, “I make too little to pay taxes.” This is NOT a good pihilosophy to adopt but I got away with it because the IRS must have decided I made too little as well.
One story: twenty-five years ago, George gave me a check to mail to the IRS. Somehow it got lost in my desk drawer. When I found it in August, I immediately called the IRS and explained what had happened, begged forgiveness and stated over and over how upset I was for my idiocy. FInally I said, “Please don’t tell my husband.” Must have worked because we weren’t fined and George never found out about this until I told her a few years ago.
After George died, I used an accountant because those two years of taxes were wonky. Now I feel I should be able to do taxes myself. As soon as I finish this, I’m going back to sorting things into piles and entering numbers and attempting to figure out the instructions.
I’m not a bit happy about it.