So I admit it. I let tax time get the better of me this year, even though I swore that last January was the only January I would panic. I’ve had three meltdowns this month. Three. In twenty-three days. One of them involved the emotional binge-eating of Snickers and Doritos and the post mortem guilt which followed. There’s nothing quite as emotionally stalling as staring into the abyss of an empty polypropylene chip bag and discovering the barren womb of regret. Damn you, IRS! I broke out into hives. I think I even tried to pass a kidney stone for two weeks in an attempt to avoid reconciling my inventory. My brain wasn’t built for numbers and it’s a cruel government who would force them upon me. But I prevailed. Oh yes. I prevailed! Amidst the crumbs of my self-control, and the donuts… because there are always donuts… I found the last vestiges of my will and crawled from beneath the slowly suffocating cell of spreadsheets. I pulled myself from the icy grip of accounting software, held aloft my mighty pen and declared to the heavens “You shall not win!”. And then, that very night, my tax preparations were complete and there was a mighty tremble and sigh as the beast of bookkeeping settled itself back into its slumber. Then I totally had wine and binge-watched this season of Reign. Seriously, there was a lot of wine. So yeah, taxes are always fun. But hey, they are finished, I’m handling the VATMESS last December unleashed upon me, my kidney stone decided to crawl back into my kidney so, for the time being, my body doesn’t hate me, and I even managed to make a few things. All in all, it’s been difficult, but productive. I’ll blame it on the stars. What will you blame on Mercury in Retrograde?