Geoffrey Long
Tip of the Quill: Archives

Hot diggety dog, do I feel like crap. Last night I got home late, intending to do my taxes, when I discovered that my Quicken register and my Excel spreadsheet and my receipt envelopes weren't playing nice with each other – so instead of actually doing calculations in TurboTax, I wound up spending another night surrounded by piles of little strips of paper and pounding upon the number keys of my laptop with great vengeance. My original intent was to go to bed at midnight, but when I finished 'syncing' my registers it was 2AM. So I grunted, closed the laptop and went into bed. Ah, what fools these mortals be. After lying there awake for a few minutes, I got back up, marched back out to the living room and fetched my PowerBook, then lay in bed doing my taxes until 4:45 AM. Then – then! – I closed the 'Book again, swearing to rise in the morning and double-check for the errors that a man doth make in the wee wee hours of the morning, and lay there for a while listening to the birdies chirp outside my window. Eventually the waves of sleep mercifully washed over me, and I conked out as the roar of traffic out on Western began to grow.

When I awoke, the sky was bright and the traffic was quieter. "Aha," thought I, "I have slept for a good six to eight hours and it is now sometime in the late morning. Time to carpe me some diem and make up for lost time!" I summoned my energy and threw off the covers, wide awake and raring to go.

Guess what time it was.

That's right. 8 oh-frickin'-clock.

Say it ain't so, Jim. Say it ain't so.

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