Paperwork. Oh, how I loathe doing it. My beloved spouse and I have done the best we could to make it tolerable. We have a lovely space, adequate temperature control and, although our desk chairs have a stain or two, one can sit in them for great lengths of time without coming down with bursitis.
On days when I know that I am going to be doing a lengthy stint in the home office, I do what I can to make it pleasant. I make a good pot of coffee, dress in comfortable clothing, hum a lovely rendition of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” and then I throw my head back and wail like a kid destined to clean the bathroom.
It’s not that I can’t spend long hours balancing checkbooks, paying bills and reconciling accounts. I just don’t want to. Quite frankly, I would rather clean the john.
The worst part is the tax forms. No one but the government would expect you to spend hours filling out forms to show you what you owe them.
All of this is compounded by the fact that I have issues with math. In fact, I informed my husband of this about 10 seconds into our relationship. I said, “Hi, my name is Lori, I am single and I hate math.”
He smiled and took me out to dinner.
Three months later he started dropping piles of tax forms on my lap and said, “Here, this is so easy I can’t believe it.”
I should mention here that he thinks shoveling dirt in extreme temperatures is so easy he can’t believe it.
Like an idiot, I dug right into his tax paying. I had to get advice from an accountant, my mother, and a nice lady who made the mistake of telling me she was a whiz at numbers. But I persevered and actually completed Form 941 all by myself.
What a big mistake that was. Form 941 has been mine to complete ever since, along with W-2s, 1099s and my personal favorite, the 940EZ. Apparently the IRS is used to people like me because they happily provide form W-2C and 941C just to straighten the whole mess out, but that’s another story.
Yet I had a system that always started with a bookkeeping program and our computer, the “Old Dinosaur,” himself. I would enter in a few pertinent numbers and not only could I create checks and online payments, I could reconcile like it was my job.
But last month the Old Dinosaur started coughing and choking and making it evident he was drawing his last cyberspace breath.
Having been chastised a time or two for making purchases without first consulting our tech-savvy children, I sought their wisdom. It wasn’t long before a new technological marvel of a computer was ours for the purchasing.
And it was just in time, too. For within a couple of days, the Old Dinosaur threw out one last fatal error and went to wherever it is that old computers go.
Just as one rids oneself of an old, faithful car, I was only sentimental until I sat down in front of the Cadillac of a computer that was now parked on the desk.
Suddenly I was whizzing through websites, opening applications and impressing myself with the way I could navigate through cyberspace. I was pleased with the way things were going right up until I opened up my bookkeeping program and learned that not only did it not like my new computer, it wasn’t going to play along nicely.
I have not seen such bad numbers since my post Thanksgiving weigh-in.
To put it mildly, I have spent the last month in paperwork agony. I have said bad words, sought advice from everyone from the accountant to people who proclaim to know numbers, and more than once, I have thrown my head back and wailed.
It’s one thing to teach an old dog new tricks, but it’s another to learn that the dog did not like any of the new tricks in the first place.
Ironically, it is Form 941 that is dealing me fits. While the Old Dinosaur and his prehistoric ways might have been primitive, at least he gave me numbers that seemed accurate. While some might contend it is user error and not the newfangled program itself, I will beg to differ.
I approached my beloved spouse just this morning and dropped Form 941 on his lap and said, “Here, this is so easy that you can’t believe it,” and I walked away. If he needs me, I’ll be cleaning the john. Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].