I swallowed a bug.

I am 26 years old and this is the first year I have ever done my own taxes.

Go ahead and judge.  It's probably fair.

I had every intention of doing them last year so my poor dad, who ends up doing all that stupid, necessary crap for me, would not have to mess with it.

And as you may assume, my road to Hell is pretty well paved with all manner of my good intentions.

So, this year, I decided to put on my big-girl pants, take some responsibility and do it myself.  I figured, if everyone else in the country manages to do this and survive, then I certainly can, too.

Mistake.

I have always been a person who gets, shall we say, easily frustrated.  These frustrations pop up generally when I don't understand something no matter how hard I try, or when something that should work correctly does not.

Typical scenarios that frustrate me

• Getting lost while driving
• Attempting any math above a 2nd grade level
• Spending $50+  to ship a box to a friend overseas and then having someone else ask, "Why didn't you just use a flat-rate box?"
• Buying an album off of iTunes, and only half of the songs actually downloaded
• Parallel parking
• When my printer spazzes out, prints the wrong pages of a paper that is due in 20 minutes, and uses up all the computer paper I had left

As you can see, many of these frustrations have to do with math and/or spatial skills (I am such a stereotype), and many have to do with technology.

For me, doing my taxes was a combination of both. 

The Federal taxes, though tedious, were easy enough.  In fact, I got pretty cocky for a few minutes because I just seemed to have all the answers.

Then came the state taxes.

Giant, fermented goat funk.

I recently acquired residency to the fine state of North Carolina in order to secure in-state tuition rates.  However, I have only been a resident for about 6 months.  So, to my home state of Indiana, I am still considered a "partial resident."  Basically, it boils down to the fact that I have taxes in both Indiana and North Carolina.

Suddenly, I was transported back to 5th grade and I was taking a giant math test, complete with word problems, critical thinking and basic algebra (yes, we did algebra in my 5th grade class).

I didn't understand the questions, I couldn't figure out which numbers went where and I couldn't remember a thing from my homework.  My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty and the room was getting increasingly stuffy.  I looked around at my classmates, their pencils racing across the page and realized that I was the only one who didn't get it.

Fortunately, I was able to snap myself back to reality.  I straightened myself in my chair, took a deep breath and thought to myself, "You are an adult.  You are mature, you are independent and you can do this, damn it!"

So, I did what any self-respecting, independent woman in my situation would do.

I called my dad.

In fact, I called him six times within a 2-hour period. 

Eventually, after crying, swearing and throwing things (and I am not exaggerating), I finished them. 

Did I do it correctly?  I have absolutely no freaking clue.  And at the moment, I could not give a happy rat's ass.

Did I learn something?  Why yes, yes I did.

H&R Block exists for a reason.

Also, part of being an adult is knowing when to admit you cannot or, more importantly, should not do something.  I should not be allowed to do my own taxes.  Hell, or anyone else's, for that matter.

I am reminded of something my mom has on the wall in her office at work that really accurately sums up the whole thing for me:

I am that pig.