This rainy evening, I’m doing archaeology in my living room. I’m gently smoothing, sorting, and stacking bits of my past under the guise of tax preparation. These receipts are a scrapbook of 2012: a year of drive-ins, Fancy Fridays, and warm nights on the plain streets of Scranton before I stumbled into frozen Vermont. Among the layers, I’ve found:
- The last vet receipt for my beloved dog, Shyloh.
- A first date (pizza), the day that I fell in love (chinese), a first fight (ice cream), and a last date (pizza again).
- The first time I met the residents of Riverdale at a small pizza place in Philly.
- A hungover morning at a diner in Binghamton with some fine archaeologists (yes, real archaeologists!)
- Postage for a package of puzzle pieces mailed to an old friend in California.
- An uncanny number of gas station egg breakfast sandwiches.
- Manic Panic pink hair dye (and accompanying bleach) for that quarter-life crisis.
- Champagne yeast for that… experiment.
- The gas receipt from the closest that I ever came to running out of gas.
- That burrito that I ate right after I interviewed at UVM… sadly, because I didn’t think I was going to be accepted.
- The night that I wore a “fancy hat” to the V-spot and, apparently, our server named our table “fancy hat”.
- My 26th birthday lunch on our way to the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon.
- The receipt from THIS gas station.
Sadly, I can’t write off any of these as business expenses. Who knew tax day could be so emotional?