I'm working real hard. Trying very hard to get motivated...to do taxes. Well, not do them really...just gather all the numbers together to hand over to our CPA. The last time I did my own taxes was almost two decades ago and I believe it was on a 1040 EZ form.
I follow many blogs written by medical students, residents, and their wives. I find it amusing how they have all already filed their taxes in hopes to receive their refund any days now and here I am...waiting till the last possible second to file mine. (To those friends of mine- just wait, the tides will change! Hang tough!)
Doc H and I will be sending a check with ours. We always do. A big. fat. check. The type of check that makes your heart palpitate. The type of check which sends you flying to the liquor cabinet to self-medicate. No matter what we plan with our CPA, how we manage our deductions, it never fails. We always end up owing the IRS and State.
This year should be interesting. In 2011, we sold all our stock in Doc H's start-up to the acquiring company, bought our retirement house (aka The MoneySucker we pray won't break us), and I left the workforce. I know, you're not crying for us and I don't expect you to. We are very fortunate and lucky to be where we are, but, nonetheless, writing that check hurts. BAD.
Every year prior to this year, I would sit and listen to the numbers just roll off the tongue of our CPA as if she was telling me to write a check for just a buck. She was so matter-of-fact about it. If I had to deliver that kind of news, I think I would turn all motherly and apologize for being the bearer of such bad news, give soft pats on the back, dispense hugs, and say "I'm so sorry" profusely and at nauseum. I might even shed a tear for the the poor couple. Our CPA just pushes a computer printout with the amounts and addresses of where to send the checks and tells us to have a good year.
I think Doc H hates the walk out to the car and drive home afterwards. The conversation is always the same:
Me (being overly dramatic and overly exaggerating): WHY DO I WORK! My entire year's income just goes to taxes!
DH: (trying to be supportive) No, it doesn't.
Me: I think of all the time I spend with clients and away from our family! For what? (totally decompensating; in 2009 I even cried)
DH: (reasoning) Think of all the write-offs.
Me: It's not worth it!!! Oh. my. god. I have a headache now.
This will be the first year we won't have that conversation. I know I'll feel good about that. Yet, I'm fairly certain once we hear our numbers we will walk to our car in silence and completely numb.