An evil math monster has invaded my brain

Can we pause this book talk for a moment while I complain about the torture of taxes? My dining room table is covered in receipts. I keep waving my hands in the air and muttering, “Don’t talk. I’m doing math.” And the appointment is looming closer each day…

I think they should have a special form. You fill it out (once) to declare yourself as a writer, and they immediately place you in a group of remedial tax payers. They provide special forms written in actual English, self-filing systems that read and organize your receipts, and electronic adding scanners. OR, they could just send you back a form that says: “We recognize that you will probably never make any money, and will continue to sponge off the earnings of your spouse. Please contact us if you accidentally DO make money one year, and we will tax you accordingly.”

That would be so reasonable…

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