I finally filed my taxes today. I'm getting about $750 back between state and feds, which is pretty good. Turns out I made just over $12,000 dollars last year, which makes me wonder where it all went because I don't feel like I really made that much, but spread out over a twelve-month period it's much less than it seems. Also, the state really wants my money; I'm only getting $65 from them. Jerks.
Since I have been recovering from a mind-numbing cold, Evenstar has not progressed at all since I ripped out last weekend. I plan on working on it today, but we'll see how that goes. I'm going to drag Patrick out to Walmart and Target to look for shelving units. I feel slightly bad for saying this, but I still have several boxes that were never unpacked. We have the room to put all our stuff out, we just don't have the surfaces to put them on. So, book shelves. Also, I'm not nearly as bad as Em. She's been in her house for two years and she's still got boxes she hasn't opened yet.
If worst comes to worst, I'm off tomorrow and I'll try and catch up before clue #3 is released next Friday.
D&D hasn't happened at all in the last month. Bob's parking lot doesn't get plowed (stupidly) so when we got fifteen yards of snow in two weeks, it was impossible for us to park. In fact, until just recently there was still a good foot and a half in some places. Also, being snowed in means that Bob's apartment has reached a critical dirty state, so he took last week to get it back into shape. Hopefully we'll start playing again on Monday, I miss D&D.
I found my Oregon Trail 2 disc the other day, and installed it on Patrick's desktop since Vista won't run such an old program. We've been playing on and off all week. The most hilarious, depressing death so far? Bob nearly drowned, and then two weeks later died of dehydration. I got accidental bullet wounds a lot.
Hope your weekend goes smoothly.
"... This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day..."
~Henry V; iv:iii (Shakespeare)