This is not a post about death. It is, however, about taxes.
I've been doing my taxes for years. Which is good because it's a felony NOT to do taxes. But this year is my first year of doing taxes with my new business. What business, you say? The one that isn't off the ground yet, but apparently is legal enough that I can write my laptop off to it. I think. If it's not, I swear I thought it was.
It also seems that I have gotten my father's genes when it comes to doing taxes. I remember one year after my father did taxes that we ended up with a negative income. I guess that would be a loss. The man knew how to write off everything. And his record-keeping left a lot to be desired. A shoe box full of receipts. I think his accountant would have jumped off a mountain he hadn't had to drive 7 hours to find a hill tall enough.
So this morning I am doing taxes and saying things to myself like, "I think it was $325 to list the condo that never sold, or was it $375?" It is too sad that I am too damn cheap to share my return with H&R Block, because they could probably save me dollars.
And the possibility of tax penalties. Ah, screw it.