Ah, tax day. I got ours postmarked on Thursday, but there were still plenty of people in line at the post office this afternoon who had waited even longer than we had. What keeps coming to mind when I think of tax day is the post a former coworker of mine put up earlier this week on The Cost of Existing. It is quite good, and says everything I would probably say about taxes, but much more humorously and more completely.

I don’t have anything to say about taxes, really. So I won’t say anything about them.

I was printing out a second copy of my thesis, to be sent out on Saturday morning, when we ran out of printer paper. I’m lucky this isn’t the final draft, and that I could afford to print a few pages on paper I’d recycled from previous drafts. But it still doesn’t look pretty. It doesn’t look professional. And that’s a shame.

The Sox win, coupled with a Celtics win over the Miami Shaqs, made for a relaxing night in which I was able to forget about the doctor’s appointment we have on Saturday.

I had earlier gone to a reading with my boss from the part-time gig. The reading was part of a BU series organized by Meg Tyler, a friend of both the head of my Lesley program and my boss, Michael. Meg was actually the one who helped me get this job. And this was before I’d even met her. Anyway, the reader was the poet Geoffrey Hill. And, among other things, he read a poem he wrote when he was 20 called “Genesis” that neither Michael nor I could believe he’d written that young. The room was kind of uncomfortable, but Hill gave a superb reading.