There is a theory that says paperwork, especially financial papers, should be filed carefully and stored in one place. I personally, do not subscribe to this school of thought. I am more of a "the pile it unopened around the house" kind of woman.
Piles work for me. My desk has to have at least one pile on it for me to be able think coherently. Granted, it is neatly stacked and not too high. From time to time I am seized with a "clear the clutter" virus, which leads me to do what I call filing and the end results being a bare desk. The sleek minimalist look lasts for about five minutes until a new pile mysteriously is born in the same place like a phoenix rising from the ashes. There is no getting around it, my desk comes with a regenerating pile spell. I have finally accepted the reality and merely try to keep control of the height of the pile.
Personal financial papers are filed the same way. Unfortunately, when tax time rolls around I turn into a raving lunatic. The frantic hunt for those papers that are needed to file out my tax return correctly is on. It is important note that my procrastination gene means that the hunt begins very close to the April 30th filing deadline. Last night the annual hunt took place. Every nook and cranny, every drawer, every pile paper was rummaged through. My dining room table is littered with paper, not even in piles this time. This sad state is a testimony to my desperation. But on the bright side, I found most of what I needed. The crucial real estate statement is still missing in action. I hope the lovely receptionist at my lawyer's office will be able to find me a copy. I know I had it. I saw it a couple of weeks ago and put in a safe place. Translation: safe place is code for never to be seen again. My son has four copies of his birth certificate in a safe place yet to be rediscovered.
With my assorted papers I went to deliver them to a lovely accountant who agreed to do my taxes for me. I have always filed my own since they have been fairly straightforward. This year they are beyond my capabilities. A very patient young woman took my pile of receipts and sorted through them. Smiling, she told me that some one would be in touch with me soon. Not to worry, everything will be fine.
My apologies to the brave soul who has undertaken this Herculean task. I have learned my lesson. I can't handle the stress anymore. An organized filing system is headed in my direction. Of course, it will need to include piles.
Piles work for me. My desk has to have at least one pile on it for me to be able think coherently. Granted, it is neatly stacked and not too high. From time to time I am seized with a "clear the clutter" virus, which leads me to do what I call filing and the end results being a bare desk. The sleek minimalist look lasts for about five minutes until a new pile mysteriously is born in the same place like a phoenix rising from the ashes. There is no getting around it, my desk comes with a regenerating pile spell. I have finally accepted the reality and merely try to keep control of the height of the pile.
Personal financial papers are filed the same way. Unfortunately, when tax time rolls around I turn into a raving lunatic. The frantic hunt for those papers that are needed to file out my tax return correctly is on. It is important note that my procrastination gene means that the hunt begins very close to the April 30th filing deadline. Last night the annual hunt took place. Every nook and cranny, every drawer, every pile paper was rummaged through. My dining room table is littered with paper, not even in piles this time. This sad state is a testimony to my desperation. But on the bright side, I found most of what I needed. The crucial real estate statement is still missing in action. I hope the lovely receptionist at my lawyer's office will be able to find me a copy. I know I had it. I saw it a couple of weeks ago and put in a safe place. Translation: safe place is code for never to be seen again. My son has four copies of his birth certificate in a safe place yet to be rediscovered.
With my assorted papers I went to deliver them to a lovely accountant who agreed to do my taxes for me. I have always filed my own since they have been fairly straightforward. This year they are beyond my capabilities. A very patient young woman took my pile of receipts and sorted through them. Smiling, she told me that some one would be in touch with me soon. Not to worry, everything will be fine.
My apologies to the brave soul who has undertaken this Herculean task. I have learned my lesson. I can't handle the stress anymore. An organized filing system is headed in my direction. Of course, it will need to include piles.
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