Jill Shalvis Icon

I’ve been working on taxes for what seems like forever now. Probably it would go faster if I didn’t keep turning on the tv (House, you rocked this week!), or playing Monopoly with a kid here and there, or going skiing (four feet of fresh powder here in Tahoe, can’t help myself) …

Probably it would be less painful if I HADN’T JUST TOSSED EVERY SINGLE RECEIPT AND PAID BILL INTO A BOX ALL YEAR.

Hi, my name is Jill and I have no organizational skills. None.

This drives my husband insane to the point where he won’t help me with the taxes until I get myself in order. Hate to disappoint, but it ain’t ever gonna happen.

So. For two days running I have been sitting on the floor with this big box in front of me, making piles. Piles of gas receipts. Piles of doctors bills. Piles of subscriptions paid (hey, honey, your Penthouse is expiring). I have piles of restaurants checks and traveling receipts (Mr. IRS, is Disneyland a write-off?) and piles of crap that I have no idea what to do with. And each little pile is turning into this staggering high, precariously stacked mountain, just waiting … yep … for a kid to come barreling into the room at the speed of light yelling “mom, she’s after me” and jump into the center of it.

Scattering papers from here to Kingdom Come.

I vowed not to cry if that happened. (If? Who am I kidding, it was BOUND to happen!)

Hey, do you think the IRS will accept a sanity plea as an excuse for being late?

Anyone else having as much fun as I am?