Okay, okay, the hotel is really a $50 a night cheapy directly under the flight path to San Francisco Airport; the cuisine actually a Belly Bomb Burritto from 7-11, the white napkin a wash cloth and the snifter of Burgundy a bottle of Diet Coke. Sue me.
I have been working seven days a week for the past two weeks. I have never done that before. I decided to try an experiment and see how long I can last before I go postal. So far, the stress is manageable. The good thing is that on the weekends I am working on individual taxes, whereas during the week I work on corporations, partnerships and LLC's. I am having a blast. I enjoy it. I am productive. Look ma, I'm working! My wife was so cute last week when I brought home an actual paycheck. "Oh my God," she exclaimed, "What is it? A p-p-paycheck?? I remember hearing about those once!"
"What do I do with it?" she queried nervously.
"Take it to the bank, dear," I replied. They'll help you with that."
Lucky for her, I knew the answer to that question. I am not a CPA for nothing.