Today is tax day. My own were prepared last week, but Goblin burned the midnight oil, her eyeshade pulled down over her bulging eyes, going over her own figures. She has a lot of medical bills she can deduct this year. I expect I’ll have to drive her to the post office before midnight. She is such a procrastinator.

We are feeling better today . . . well enough to appreciate the irony of being simultaneously fortunate to have all we have and despairing of our myriad tribulations.

Goblin’s vet appointment is tomorrow morning, and boy are my arms tired.