Sanna's Bag

“I never seem to have what I need when I need it. I’m going to make a belt-bag that’s bigger on the inside than on the outside, and just carry everything with me.”

Monday, February 16, 2009

bloody but unbowed

I have just spent the day in an all-in, no-holds-barred, teeth-knees-and-elbows allowed, down and dirty wrassling match getting the taxes ready to take to the accountant. When it comes to data and numbers I have serious blank spots and have learned to just chuck every-fucking-thing into the box and hope that God will sort it all out while I sleep. She doesn't, of course, so once a year I have to sit down with with the gunnysack of bills, receipts, check stubs, and those greasy little statements the money people send you before Valentine's Day, and try to get it all organized, lined up and tidy with hands and faces washed and socks pulled up. And by God, it mostly is! I have paper cuts, staple punctures, and a nice bruise from tripping over a box of paper crap that was headed to the recycle bin, and I have piles and stacks of papers that have been sorted, paperclipped, labled and damnfuckingwell organized and I think I'm going to have a drink now.

Many of you asked if I name all the yarn in my stash. Imagine me speaking in a fluting, musical voice with stars in my eyes and fluttery movements of my hands. Why yes, yes, I do name all my yarn, The little dears feel ever so much more special that way. And I stroke them and call them by name every chance I get, because my yarn loves me - everyball and gram, be it wool or silk or cotton or even those sad little acrylics. And they all deserve love equally, don't you think?

Now the real Roxie snaps back into focus: grubby slippers, ratty sweatshirt, and bags under the eyes. And the voice is less like a lilting flute and more like an ill-tuned banjo. DO I name ALL the yarn in my stash? I can't even keep track of all my brothers' kids' names, and they've been around for between 3 and 4 decades now. Do you honestly think I can remember EVERY scrap of yarn in my stash? I remembered Fred because I was trying to channel Lenny from "Of Mice and Men" (I will love it and hug it and pet it and stroke it and I will take care of it and I will name it . . . ." And I couldn't remember what Lenny was going to name the bunny. So I called it Fred. Or maybe George. Wotthehell. It's YARN! Who CARES what it's name is? And don't act like you don't remember where you got certain skeins in your stash because I know better. You may not have named them Fred. YOu may have named them, "That wonderful yarn I got from Galad when I won her contest." Or "The alpacca I had to hide from the husband because I spent too much on it but I HAD to have it!" or, "That cheesy glitter acrylic. I should never buy yarn after drinking margaritas with the girls."

And even though we name and remember our yarns, if you turn out the whole stash, I will bet you money that you find something that evokes the querry, "Where the heck did I get this?" Go on. Turn out and sort through your whole stash. PRove me wrong. If I can take on my filing system and emerge victorious, I can do anything!! Yeeeha!

(where's my drink?)

14 Comments:

  • At 3:33 PM , Blogger ugomema said...

    You absolutely CRACK me up. I so can relate to your situation with the tax Gods. Love your real Roxie attire.

     
  • At 4:35 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    This comment has been removed by the author.

     
  • At 4:35 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    This comment has been removed by the author.

     
  • At 4:35 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    Only you, Roxie, Only you, would admit to the bags under the eyes.

    They're tax demons.

     
  • At 4:35 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    This comment has been removed by the author.

     
  • At 4:38 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    I don't know how it happened but my comment posted FOUR times!

     
  • At 7:34 PM , Blogger Galad said...

    Put your feet up and enjoy the rewards of getting through the dreaded tax paperwork. (Oh horrors - I still have to do that!)

     
  • At 8:45 PM , Blogger Bobbie Wallace said...

    I have found the perfect tax filing system! It's called,
    "Husband". LOL!

    As for tossing the stash - last time I did that I found not 1, not 2, but 7, count 'em, 7 skeins of red fun fur! WTF? And no, I'm not doing it again. Hell, there might be more of that crap in there!

     
  • At 4:55 AM , Blogger Alwen said...

    Taxes . . . ohhhhh.

    I must send you to this link - imagine them in purple!

    http://www.tsocktsarina.com/sockkits/roxie.html

     
  • At 5:30 AM , Blogger Donna Lee said...

    I have the papers together. We don't have much in the way of stuff for the taxes and I do them myself. It takes about an hour and I feel so drained but victorious when it's done. Like I conquered a dragon or something.

     
  • At 11:22 AM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    Dear Tiggywinkle, the perfect use for fun fur and all other ghastly novelties we somehow acquire is the Totally Mindless Scarf, donated to the bazaar of your choice. Cast on loosely enough for the length of your scarf, on larger than usual needles. . Garter stitch till it's wide enough. Bind off loosely. Garter stitch this way looks like something else entirely, as I'm sure you know. In my experience there is always a tweeny girl who loves it!
    Signed, the queen of Mindless Knitting - (hey, some folks call it "contemplative"...)

     
  • At 11:30 AM , Blogger Bobbie Wallace said...

    Thanks for the reminder - it'll have to be something I knit at home where no one will see me! LOL! I actually found more of that stuff - in blue, beige, pink, purple, and white. What WAS I thinking? And some Red Heart marked $2.75 a skein - this must have been mouldering in there a LONG time. Methinks the local senior center might be getting a donation soon . . .

     
  • At 3:57 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    Drinking again, are we?

     
  • At 9:02 PM , Blogger Lisa said...

    I haven't even started the bookkeeping I need to do for my business. Hey, I still have a month and a half!

     

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