I'm sitting here delaying finishing up my taxes. The crazy part is done - the part where I spread every piece of paper that has entered this house in the past year all over the table, chairs, floor and one sleeping cat. Then I start to compile the piles (?) until I can get to categories. From categories I can get to claimable/non claimable. From that I can get to stuffing non claimable into folders and stuffing those folders into the file cabinet. This usually frees up the cat.
Then I get out my stapler and my little post it notes. I try to iron out gas receipts with the stapler. This doesn't work. When I finally corral all the little receipts that are claimable and put them into their category, I staple the crap out of them and put a post it on it with a total. I use the same calculator I've used since 1981. It's a little cheapy solar one that came with the Time magazine subscription that was offered to all university students at a great price. My Dad renewed that sucker for so many years, Time must believe I am the densest student to ever go on to higher learning.
Before you say it: I do everything on my computer but this. I'm changing now. Stop saying it. I know. Anyway. I'm pretty much done, just have to write up the final sheet that my accountant gets.
The problem is, when I'm in accounting mode, I lose my mind. I did all the PITA stuff on Sunday. Ari came into the room, took one look at me surrounded by paper (and the cat peeking out) and said 'I'm gone, no problem' and ran away. 5 hours later, he came back, saw dozens of little balled up pieces of paper everywhere (I throw them in the same general direction, but the cats think it's playtime) and just ran without speaking. Smart kid.
The problem with working intensely is that I forget things like shopping and dinner. Christer and Pammy have taken to doing the groceries most of the time, but it makes for an interesting selection. Christopher buys the juice I expressly tell him we can't afford. But Pam puts in fruit and veggies, a section Christopher doesn't know exists. Seriously. He goes into the No Frills and to his right is just a big blurry spot.
I ran into the store yesterday because, who knew it was going to be closed today?, not me, until 6pm. I forget though, and realize I didn't get anything for dinner tonight. As I sit here, I realize I want to be more European. I want to just wander through a cobblestone market each day, and select what looks wonderful and have that for dinner. I want to say 'shall we have a nice piece of fish today?' or 'I fancy the arugula', though I don't like arugula enough to buy it, cobblestones or no. But I would like that option. I would also be as big as a house, because, let's be honest: the only thing I would fancy day after day would be loaves of bread and knobs of cheese as big as my head.
Oh! JoJo has turned into a lap cat this week. Seriously. This week. As of Monday, as if she had a calendar in her head, she has decided she likes sitting on laps. She has never done this before, mostly because she's a bigger girl who is a little self-conscious of her weight. Even if we put her on our lap, she would jump away, as if we would actually tease her or something, or call attention to the weird little swingy belly she has. Maggie is relentless of course, pointing her paw and laughing at JoJo as Maggie effortlessly leaps from lap to couch to counter, and JoJo looks on enviously.
Not anymore. JoJo has embraced her issues, and now likes to snuggle. This has its upsides: she's warm. Well, one upside. The downsides are a little trickier. She drools when she's happy. She's now happier. And when she spreads out (I put my feet up on my tower), my legs go numb. Maggie smirks and says 'I never made your legs go numb.' The other problem is that if JoJo thinks she's falling, she hangs on for dear life. She has claws like a bobcat.
Speaking of drawing blood, I had my physical yesterday. My doctor handed me a blood req and said 'fast first'. I sighed. I have a lab near the house, but I never get there. It's a pain. And I forget. I know my doctor does bloodwork in her office, so I suggested she just do it there. 'Have you eaten today?'. 'I had a smoothee,' I told her. 'So, just one banana a handful of raspberries and some milk,' I looked at her hopefully. My trainer has me drinking these things, and now I hear the blender going all the time - day, night - as the boys experiment with blending things.
Doc sighed, and said 'this is the best I'm going to get from you, isn't it?'. I nodded. They took my smoothee contaminated blood.