How my left brain is broken and other maladies.

IMG_6113I give up. I simply can’t do it. I just can’t. My brain totally freezes up when the words income, taxes or receipts are mentioned. Even in polite conversation, like at the grocery store…”ma’am would you like your receipt with you or in the bag?” Wha? I’m sorry. My high school geometry teacher actually doctored my final grade so he wouldn’t have to have me in his class again. Thank you Mr. Steen. Seriously,  I think I have a numeroblastoma on my left brain. I’m not joking.

Today I spent the whole day shuffling paperwork with numbers on it. The whole day. Apparently, said numbers have something to do with my getting paid money and also paying sales taxes. From 9 am until just now (7:30), with a short break from 1 to 2, I sat, staring at these papers with numbers on them until, finally, my husband could not stand the pathetic sight of me anymore and came over to help me. With him helping, it took all of 15 minutes.

I’m an artist for crikey’s sake! Don’t they realize that if I could do math too, that would make me a perfect person? Nobody’s perfect, so why do they have to make it so hard? I mean, am I the only one? C’mon, there have got to be other people who, like me, turn into blubbering morons at the sight of a decimal point. My friend, we’ll call her Julie (’cause that’s her name), she balances her checkbook to the penny every month and even organizes her 10s, 5s and 1s in face up, presidential order in her wallet. She actually likes numbers! (Insert Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” image here). My husband can do calculations in his head faster than you can say “get a calculator”. Even my 14 year old son has to come with me to art shows to help me figure out tax.

If someone says I need to double a recipe, I’m like…”I’d rather make the recipe twice than have to do fractions”.

If I have to measure the couch to make sure it fits on the wall, I count it off on my feet and then go home and do the same thing with the wall.

And while, as I am a creative person, these are very resourceful ways to maneuver the hellish waters of the math that presents itself to me on a daily basis, I cannot count off said sales tax with my feet. And so, at the beginning of every month, I find myself cleaning out another desk drawer, or wiping out the refrigerator, anything to procrastinate having to engage in the self-torture that is the business end of my business. END.