I actually have a Saturday all to myself, and I figured it would be a good time to get to doing taxes, so I don’t have to feel overly pressured doing them on the night of the 14th. I had already bought the software, to use for the business, so it’s simply a matter of finding the disks, installing the personal tax software and typing in the numbers.
I must have been somewhat organized at some point in time, because without much searching I found an envelope labeled “Tax Docs” and it had everything I need to type into the software to get this done. How cool is that. So I headed into what serves at my little home office, and looked for the disks. They weren’t where I had thought I put the, which isn’t that big of a deal, so I satarted searching around the office, cleaning my desk in the process, and occasionally distracting myself with a variety of things. I got to the surface of my desk, which is quite an achievement, and still no software. So I started plowing through the mess that is this little corner of the house, thinking it’s a good thing to clean as I search, and that the disks have to be somewhere near the top of the pile, because I installed the business version about a month ago, and well, I haven’t really done much back here in the last month, so where would they be. In my search, I found, in various places, the previous year tax software, going back all the way to 1998, but not the 2010 disks.
I also wound up finding joint bank statements, old credit cards that got stuffed into a box, both for me and for the ex, and greeting cards, anniversary, birthday, etc. I have, what is proably a bad habit, of keeping that kind of stuff. I have cards professing love, well beyond the place where I was later told that there wasn’t any affection anymore. Beyond a fairly significant sadness, there was a curiosity, why send loving greeting cards? Habit? Expectation? Hope? A mixture of them all? Maybe, it’s that the love was never really there, and that she just wanted it to be there, and if she just believed in it, it would happen.
I found an stack of pictures of my childhood. They are just about all that are left. We lost almost everything when I was 14, so the only things we have from before that is things that were in storage, or that we had given to someone, who made copies or returned the originals.
Lots of memories today, not a lot accomplished. I never did find the softare. Worst case will be dropping $20 on the personal edition, and then finding the disks a week later, definately not a bank breaker, but enough to fell kind of stupid sometime in the near future, well, kind of stupider than I feel now. So I’ve mostly given up, poured a glass of wine, put the reminders of affection back in the box, and seek solice in a clean desk.