Paradox

It's a paradox, is it not, for people who need coffee to function? They must also function to make coffee.

This morning, I planned to make a batch of cold coffee but I made the mistake of starting this before I made myself a cup for immediate consumption. I filled the carafe with a precise amount of water and then, instead of adding ice, I proceeded to fill the carafe with more water.

The problem was easily remedied by pouring out the excess water.

And, by making my own cup of coffee.

No other serious issues ensued.

The Day After

"Did you sleep in?" my sister-law-asked me this morning.

Nope. I was up at 6:30 because Hubby scheduled landscapers to install lighting in the backyard and they were due to arrive at 7. 

All was not lost because I planned to wash my hair for the first time since last Thursday. Or was it Wednesday? A long, hot shower, and clean hair were my priorities. 

Afterwards, I unraveled the cord to my blow dryer, unfastening the Velcro band that keeps it neat. I plugged it into the wall, lost in unknown thoughts. After a moment, I unplugged the dryer, and bound up the cord in its Velcro strap and glanced in the mirror. My hair was still wet! Again, I unwrapped the cord and plugged it into the wall.

Yes, it might take a few minutes before I fully decompress.

My hair is dry now. I'm dressed and fed. I'm still working on forming full sentences but I think I can work out, "I need a pedicure."

But I'll write it out, just in case.

1 - (worn out)

When you've worn out the letter stencil on your keyboard and then worn through the sticker intended to replace the stencil.

Missing ET.

Maybe I should file my tax return.

Eh, there's still time.

2

When you type

" let me knowif you needth attachmeents "

...it's time for bed.

3

My usual routine is: roll out of bed, nudge the computer to life, put on clothes (athleisure - where the emphasis is on neither athleticism nor leisure), log into work.

A couple of days ago, I put my shirt on inside out and thought, Who cares? I left it that way. Besides, it was a Seahawks shirt and Russell's gone so, again, Who cares?

This morning, I didn't bother getting dressed. I just went to work in my bathrobe. Somehow, that just feels right.

Three more days. . . .

4

I was pretty proud of myself for getting up and starting work at 4 am on a Saturday morning until I realized it was only Friday.

Four more days.

5

Please don't talk to me before I've had my coffee.

It's going to be a long day, so maybe you shouldn't talk to me until after coffee.

In fact, just don't talk to me at all.

For five more days.

6

My greatest amusement these days is #TaxTwitter. Nothing like reading the frustrations of overworked and overtired tax preparers when you're one yourself.

If I'm going to go crazy, at least I'll have company.

7 - head just exploded

One week left to get your taxes done if they're not done already. One week of dawn to dusk work hours. One more week without a day off.

Yesterday, Monday, was a productive and relatively sane day. That's saying something for a Monday. But the day before, my head exploded.

After work, I went out (as in out of doors, having showered and washed my hair) for a beer. I was telling Hubby that I had come across a reference to a K-3, a tax form a writer on Twitter wished to set fire to.

I didn't actually see the K-3 (thank goodness, because it's a 20-page form). One taxpayer's documents just made reference to one. As I was telling Hubby about this my right earring popped right off my ear. It was a hoop earring with a spring-hinge closure. 

Hubby said, "I think your head just exploded."

Indeed, I was a little light-headed and started to worry about the perilous height of the barstool. I only had one beer and then Hubby thought it best to get me home. 

Like I said, Monday was better. No exploding body parts.

Yet.

8

 She's breaking up .... She's breaking up!

9

Yesterday, Hubby and I both woke up at 6:30. We both started to dress.

"Go back to sleep," I told him.

"I've got to go to work," he mumbled.

"You don't have to go to work," I said.

"It's the working hour."

"Only for me," I explained. "It's Saturday."

Poor guy. Either tax season is contagious or he was having a bad dream. He slid back under the covers complaining he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again.

I got about an hour to myself, working from my remote, remote office (the living room), before he was up again.

Nine more days. I'll sleep on the tenth.

10

There are 10 days left to this year's tax season. Of those ten days, nearly half are days otherwise known (to non-tax professionals) as weekends. Half.

So while you're sitting by the pool, sipping on something cool (I hear the folks in Massachusetts drink a lot of beer - 3.1 gallons per adult according to the Brewers Association) or whatever people do on weekends (I wouldn't know!), the people who are crazy enough to prepare other people's tax returns will be *ugh* working.

Twitter is my relief. Reading other tax professional's frustrations is hilarious at the end of a long day. You know, to tax people. Like this one:

" My first K-1 with a K-3 attached. I can just set it on fire, right? "

Another one:

" I define the life of luxury as having the time to cut your toenails. "

And this:

" You know it is late in the season when you need to issue an office proclamation making sure that staff know it is not acceptable to actually stab clients. It is OK and acceptable to want  to stab clients but that following through is not acceptable nor condoned. "

 Another one that I saved from last night contains adult language. A lot of it. Which was pretty damned funny at the end of the day but maybe not so good in the light of day with a cup of coffee. I'll share it with my office mates at the end of the day today. Which, to you, is called Saturday - a word that has been drained of all meaning for me and mine.

10 more days.

In the meantime, do not tell me your travel plans for next freaking week. Do not post pictures of you doing fun things outside. Do not post pictures of outside.

10

           more

                         days.

Just under two weeks to go.

I'm in full panic mode now, wondering if it's possible to a) cross the finish line, b) intact. I am not very sure of my survival. My sanity begs to crumble.

On a happier note, I have a pair of new shoes which will be delivered today which is something to look forward to. I wonder how well they will go with my pajamas. They will certainly dress up my work attire although washing my hair today could do as much.

I'm also getting a delivery of freshly roasted coffee beans from Coachella Valley Coffee which I plan to munch like candy. Drinking the stuff seems to have lost its impact and I lack the equipment for direct infusion.

Hubby has decided that any repairs and maintenance that need to be done around the house should be done in these last days before April 18. Oh joy to be sharing my pajama/cork wedge shoe working ensemble with a a parade of tool-belted individuals. Maybe they will take a fashion tip from me.

But today, I plan to leave the house! Breathe fresh air. I will wash my hair, put on clothes and my new shoes, and greet other people with words rather than numbers. I will talk about anything but tax returns because there is absolutely no one who wants to talk about that, thank god. Still, it will be after 10 hours of work but it will be something.

Later, I will crawl in bed and listen to something soothing and try not to dream of panic. Resting for a few hours before starting all over again. Pushing forward because there's nothing else to do. Hoping the pieces will all fall into place because there's no other option.

I can't decide if it's comforting or scary as hell that there are less than two weeks left.

No joke.

 

via Gfycat

This comes from an astute - and much younger - co-worker. She noticed something peculiar about our (very expensive) tax software. There's a function in the program to calculate the return which is to say after we input the data, we must click on a tiny calculator icon to see the results populate in the form of a tax return. In office parlance, we "calc" the return.

Every time we calc, an animated calculator appears on the screen - much like the spinning ball or hourglass that signals you must wait. The little calculator flashes itty bitty numbers on its itty bitty screen as miniature accountants behind the screen crunch the numbers.

What my co-worker was able to see that I was not, were the actual numbers on the calculator screen. They go by fast so to see them all, I needed a really big tax return. Fortunately, I have plenty those. I also needed to slide the tax program from my smaller screen on the right to my larger screen on the left before I hit the calc button.

Seeing as she told me this secret on April 1st, I was fully prepared to be fooled but it was no joke. The tiny numbers on the tiny calculator calculating the big return with really big numbers scroll out:

8675309

Thanks to JBBG for pointing that out. That was the highlight of Tax Season 2022.