The Taxman Cometh

I shall never use profanity except in discussing house rent and taxes. - Mark Twain

As a housewife, I worry about my mind going soft. And I'm not alone: plenty of my friends with children have found themselves devoid of a grown-up conversation for weeks, even months on end. And I don't even HAVE kids. So that leaves me with just a dirty house and the voices in my head, and though they are all fabulous, fascinating women, I can't help but wonder. What would that do to a nutcase like me?

Did I mention I'm a CPA?

I have my own business, of which I am very proud. My clients are like family; I love each and every one of them. But I firmly maintain that Mike is my favorite client, so I'm happy with my company remaining small and manageable. Towards the end of the month (ahem, now. notice all the posts lately?), everything is wrapped up for my clients. I find myself alone with Dante, the dirty house, and myself, and a girl can only do so much cleaning before it becomes a neurosis. So then I get bored.

I'm at my most dangerous when bored.

The other day I scrubbed the toilet seat so much that the paint came off. Did you know that was even possible? And I thought, "OK God. Is this a sign? I'm not sure what else to do with myself today. But I bet You can come up with something." I sat down to my computer to find an email from my friend Beth. She wanted to know if I knew of somebody who wanted to work during tax season.

Do I ever! Thanks God!

Over the past few weeks I've been looking forward to rejoining the work force on a part time basis with some really nice people. I've also worried: it's been a while since I did taxes. What if I'm too slow? What if I miss a deduction? What if all those cleaning fumes burrowed into my brain and my mind HAS gone to mush? What if I'm more hindrance than help? What if what if what if. So I splurged and bought myself some brand-spanking new drafting pencils.

And now I can't wait.

Photo courtesy of ecrater.