Apparently, if you forget to tell the government that you didn't make any money to speak of in the previous year, they want to stop paying you your thank-you-for-having-children-so-our-population-doesn't-dwindle-into-
netherdom benefits.

Silly people.

(I guess I'll succumb to the pressure and finally file my tax return this week. I'm scared, though--last year was my first year in business, and considering that I am working in two currencies, USD and CAD, my bookkeeping habits were not what they should have been. The whole thing is a mess. A big, messy mess. Which has not, apparently, been made less messy by procrastination. Why is that, do you think?)

(I can hear my father's voice echoing in my head right now--his and Mr. Moir's [my high-school science teacher] are duking it out to remind me of the laws of entropy. Yeah, yeah, that's what I say. You haven't seen entropy until you watch the state of a house that was perfectly clean and tidy change at an astonishing rate of deterioration to the equivalent of the aftermath of a cyclone, hurricane, tornado, and tsunami all in one, after two little boys have passed through on the rampage. By comparison, the state of my books is tame. HAH! If I can handle the little boys, the taxes do not intimidate me! I WILL SURVIVE! HA HAH!)