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Mar. 4th, 2013 03:19 pmThe disorder in my loungeroom is no longer delightful. I have just one drawful of recent papers to go and two boxes of past papers (for it's time to get rid of some old papers as well as time to do tax). If I'm very lucky, the end result will be a bit more space as well as all my tax done.
In the interim (between bouts of taxitis) I'm catching up with small bits of errandry. I've spoken to two different bits of the insurance company, for instance, and they were, as ever, helpful.
In other words, until about 6 pm, today is a day for dull officework, punctured by a Judy Garland movie and Madigan Mine, by Kirsten McDermott. I promised I'd read for the Ditmars today, but Madigan Mine was there and something interrupted my first reading of it and it's a good book and... it really fits the mood of taxes. Totally full of uncheer. It's one of those books that one reads with much appreciation and every now and again stops to say "Glad this is not my mind producing this novel." For all my works of fiction are bright and cheerful and untwisted and full of fluffy bunnies and yellow daisies and spring meadows. Or they have recipes or footnotes or bad jokes. They don't start with death and get darker.
And this reminds me why I didn't finish it the first time. It came out when I was on death's door. The year after my stepfather died. It's not good reading for anyone in mourning and on death's door unless their sense of the joy of the morbid is particularly acute. It's good reading now, however, and a nice reminder that there is death as well as taxes. I'm not sure where old musicals fit in all this. I might make myself a pot of coffee and think about it.
In the interim (between bouts of taxitis) I'm catching up with small bits of errandry. I've spoken to two different bits of the insurance company, for instance, and they were, as ever, helpful.
In other words, until about 6 pm, today is a day for dull officework, punctured by a Judy Garland movie and Madigan Mine, by Kirsten McDermott. I promised I'd read for the Ditmars today, but Madigan Mine was there and something interrupted my first reading of it and it's a good book and... it really fits the mood of taxes. Totally full of uncheer. It's one of those books that one reads with much appreciation and every now and again stops to say "Glad this is not my mind producing this novel." For all my works of fiction are bright and cheerful and untwisted and full of fluffy bunnies and yellow daisies and spring meadows. Or they have recipes or footnotes or bad jokes. They don't start with death and get darker.
And this reminds me why I didn't finish it the first time. It came out when I was on death's door. The year after my stepfather died. It's not good reading for anyone in mourning and on death's door unless their sense of the joy of the morbid is particularly acute. It's good reading now, however, and a nice reminder that there is death as well as taxes. I'm not sure where old musicals fit in all this. I might make myself a pot of coffee and think about it.