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So I discovered the hard way yesterday that I can no longer eat McDonald�s french fries on an empty stomach. Without the cushion of my having eaten something else, they will make me sick. I will spend the next several hours with my knees pulled up to my chest, suffering through horrible stomach cramps. I will curse life. I will never want to eat again.
Not even french fries are not worth that.
Spent a good two hours online last night gathering tax information for my grandmother�s taxes. Did you know that there doesn�t appear to be a way to file an extension request for a deceased person�s tax return? So I finally found all the correct forms, and the instructions for filling out the forms to indicate that the taxpayer is, in fact, dead, and the forms that need to be attached certifying that the person signing the return is, in fact, authorized to file for the person who is no longer alive. What a mess.
Unfortunately, because my mom has her actual tax documents (it�s not a W-2, I don�t think�whatever you get when your yearly income comes entirely from pension and social security benefits) and I have the forms and we don�t live in the same place, Nana�s taxes are going to be late.
I�m not worried. What are they going to do to her? She�s dead. Even the IRS can�t make that worse.
After I finished fighting with the IRS website and the MA DOR website and Adobe Acrobat, I shut off the computer and went to bed. I watched the first new Roswell in weeks, drank a cup of Sleepytime tea and fell asleep early. Not a very exciting night in the Jenistar household, I have to say. Although, between the overtired state my Easter weekend left me in and the wrung out feeling the french fries had created for my system, I don�t think I could have handled much more.
In fact, I briefly considered taking today as a Jennifer-can�t-bring-herself-to-face-her-desk day, but I have so little time in my bank that I dragged myself to work. My boss is still on vacation. I suppose I should take advantage of the quiet while it lasts. Not that he gives me piles of things to do. I�m fairly self-sufficient out here. What he does instead is stand by my desk and chat. He wants to be entertained. He tells me about his golf game, and about the plants in his yard, and about his daughter�s basketball team (he�s her coach). He recommends books, complains about the doctors in the department and the vendors we deal with, asks about the cafeteria menu. He shows me his latest project and then stands waiting for me to say, �that�s great!� I swear, if there were a refrigerator by my desk, he�d hang his stuff on it like a kindergarten art project.
He doesn�t need an assistant. He needs a cheering section.
Oh well�cheering section isn�t such a bad job!
Boy, I have nothing to say today! Perhaps later will be better.
Oh�I�ve become a member of the Bean Ring, run by Garbonzobean. Go check her site out!
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