What a Difference a Day Makes

Yesterday, it got into the 90s; today, we'll be lucky if it gets over 70. Just as well, though, because we have to make a mulch run to Home Depot this afternoon for my dad. If I'm going to be lugging around 30 bags of mulch, and helping spread it out around their yard, I'd rather just get filthy than sweaty gross and filthy.

We're going to have to unload the back of the pickup before we swing by to pick up dad, or we'll never have room for the mulch. It's mostly hunting and golf gear, so I suppose it should all just go in the basement.

And ... it's tax day. I'll write out the checks for my estimated quarterly tax after we're done with the mulch run. Every three months, or in this case two since writing out my last set of checks to two states and Uncle Sam, I feel extremely poor. Now, I know this is bullshit, because if I really was poor, I wouldn't have to pay quarterly estimated tax at all. But still. April = two states and Uncle Sam. May = property tax and golf club dues. June = one state and Uncle Sam. I get a break in July, but August = property tax and golf dues again. It just doesn't stop.