I am diligently working on Tax Crap Part Two: Son of Tax Crap, in which our plucky leading lady realizes that Something Must Be Done about her utter lack of income/expense tracking. But when the very word "spreadsheet" makes her break out in hives, what's a starving artist to do?

Buy some hydrocortisone and learn to deal with it, apparently. And possibly send a nice present to her accountant.