This weekend, despite the lovely (though chilly) spring-like weather and the fact that tonight we put our clocks forward one hour and thereby gain much lighter evenings, there is a definite air of unreality in even the most mundane tasks.
As we can't go out I'm making a virtue of necessity and spending the weekend doing the annual accounts. This is unheard of....especially as it's not even the end of the tax year yet. I usually have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to the receipts Box of Doom, to sort through all the financial ins and outs of the past year and attempting to batter them into some semblance of order, before doing the thing with the spreadsheets and the tens and units and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth.
All I could muster this morning, when I carried the Box of Doom into the workroom was an apathetic shrug of.... meh.
Even the added poignancy of this probably being the last time I'll ever have to struggle with my most despised business task hasn't raised my flagging spirits. The best I can hope for is that it will take my mind off things and that I'll have a muted sense of relief when they're finally done and dusted.
Incidentally, I had always believed that the famous 'death and taxes' quote was attributable to Benjamin Franklin but according to Wikipedia it first appeared in The Cobler of Preston by Christopher Bullock in 1716....
’Tis impossible to be sure of any thing but Death and Taxes'
In many ways, at the moment, death is a much surer, more imminent threat than taxes ever were.....
I'll let you know how I get on..... *sigh*
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