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“What do you mean, you have ‘sort of’ been working on your taxes?”
I mean, I can, with my peripheral vision, as I sit having breakfast at the card table in my dining room, see that my dining table is completely covered with stacks of papers, to which no new documents from the chaos of my guestroom bed have been added today, and I have therefore been thinking about bringing out more stacks of papers, but first I am taking delight in three waffles with lots of butter and Extra Crunchy Jif and maple syrup and two slabs of March Birthdays steak, and 100% Columbian (from my favorite Mikasa cup, in the bottom of which I noticed, when I finished the first serving, some kind of speckles, maybe coffee grounds, maybe vanilla seeds from the ice cream I melted in the carafe, but it doesn’t matter because when I pour in more coffee I can’t see them anymore), and then some dessert, the last of Aunt Francine’s strawberry freezer jam with about one-third of my remaining chocolate chip mixture and a handful of broken-up pecans while I peruse two articles in the New Yorker I received yesterday, and then I plan to cut my hair and probably get some rye rolls dough started in the bread maker before I go out to the farm to change Dad’s bandages, but maybe I will sort through the present stacks of papers first or perhaps just carry the chaos of the dining table back to the chaos of the guestroom bed and deal with the papers a week from now if the tax guy doesn’t call before then to remind me how he appreciates my not waiting till the last minute.
♦
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