March 5th, 2007

Halloween Cat

Everything You Know Is Wrong

I owe the Feds. BIG time. *le sigh* It's because I'm dutifully declaring all of the "excused debt" now whether they sent me tax papers on it or not, just to be on the safe side - I never want to be audited again. But it's no fun to get a big bonus and then find out a sizable chunk of it has to go away now. Ah, well. At least the bills are paid: As of today, the Television is paid off, too. And we paid CASH for our new mattress, which will be delivered =when it is made for us=. Woot. I've never paid cash for such a high ticket item. It's a very powerful feeling.

It probably does mean I shouldn't consider the white gold rings come the end of the month, though; we could get 'em, but it probably wouldn't be PRUDENT. I'll wait until I see if any other unforeseen payments pop up (like, Ghod forbid, car repairs or, even worse, emergency vet bills or anything), and then we'll see. In the meantime, I had my old IRA/stock funds moved to a brand-new, locked-in, protected ING Mutual Funds account, so now it can never sink lower than where it is now (woot, again), I've upped what I'm putting into my S&T at work, and overall... wow. I may actually be experiencing something close to financial security at long last. Even after paying the plumber $146 bucks to fix the sink. *le sigh, again*

It's going to be 88 degrees here by Monday, no rain in sight, and the chirpy moron sitting behind the anchor desk perks up with, "Looking good!" Oy.

I suppose it'll be nice for those going out to the Scottsdale Arts Festival (we never make that one - it's expensive). Missed the Tempe one last weekend; too busy.

The eldest son of two of my characters, who shouldn't be born until after the end of the third book, has popped up and started talking about himself and the summer he turned (will turn) 15. The question I pose to him (and anyone else who cares), is can I write a credible 15-year-old boy? Especially since he seems to be speaking first-person? (If J.K. Rowling can do it, I don't see why I can't.) I just need to fill out the events of that summer in my head...

(Will I go to hell for thinking bad thoughts about a man in the hospital? It's Dick Cheney, if that makes any difference...)