Anyway, my mom came over last weekend to help me start the daunting task of packing up said stuff.

Armed with lots of boxes and a tape gun, there could be only one title for this packing extravaganza -- "There Will Be Blood."

Wait a minute. I think that title's been taken.

While my version is no Oscar winner, it is perhaps more amusing. Or traumatic if you're my cat. He's not a happy camper, although he is getting used to his kitty cave -- the boxed-in (literally) space under my dining table.

Back to the blood. It seems to be a theme with me. If there's a sharp object in any kind of proximity, my fingers will find it.

Remember the finger I nearly sliced off right around Thanksgiving? The one that gushed all over my kitchen? There's still a little bit of a mark.

Well, its neighbor to the right met its match -- the aforementioned tape gun. Like you didn't see that one coming.

Heck, even I saw it coming as I was taping up one of many boxes. In the milliseconds before metal teeth left eight perfectly spaced slices on my poor finger, I knew it was going to happen. I even thought, "Wow, I'm going to cut myself."

But the tape gun was moving too fast to stop it. Momentum can be a bitch.

Will I never learn?

While this cut -- or should I say cutS ... there are, after all, eight of them -- didn't bleed nearly as much as last time, my left index finger now looks a bit like a Bajoran's nose. (And if I hadn't already convinced you of my inherent geekiness, that comparison should do it.)

So, what does any of this have to do with my taxes?

I didn't notice the cuts had started to bleed again when I was signing the forms. (Yes, I procrastinated, but I did mail 'em off before the official deadline. Only a day before, but it counts.) After all the blood, sweat and tears that can go into preparing taxes, it seems only appropriate that they be signed in blood. Which is exactly what I did, and I'm not talking figuratively here.

OK. Maybe I'm exaggerating ... a little.

Hyperbole is a common affliction of writers. Sue me.

Anyway, I have to be just a little bit proud and impressed that there was just the one injury in course of the packing blitz.

Of course, I'm not finished yet. Like I said, I have lots of crap -- and nine more fingers.