I have a love-hate relationship with paper. I love the feel of it. I love reading old-fashioned books and newspapers made of it. I love receiving a letter actually written on it. But I hate the way it multiplies. It seems no matter where I turn, it taunts me. From the desk. From the floor. From the files. From the shelf. From under the sink. (Actually, we don't have much under the sink, but I thought that made a good dramatic point.)
And if you want to read between the lines from above, you will discover what I really mean is that I hate paperwork. And if you want to read between the words of the last line, you will discover what I really mean is that I hate doing the taxes. Someday, I will finish. Someday will not be soon enough.
Actually I am working on both our taxes and my parents taxes this year and everything is quite complicated. I