I wish I hadn’t procrastinated.

The room was still dark when I woke up this morning. Squinting at the clock, I read the glowing numbers: 4:25. Ugh. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but my brain had already switched on—then immediately kicked into overdrive. I tried to tell it that I didn’t need to get up for another two hours, but it wasn’t listening. “Taxxxxesssss,” my brain hissed, reminding me of Gollum.

That’s right. Today is the deadline. I can’t put it off any longer. I have to fill our my quarterly sales tax forms—one for the city and one for the county/state. I imagine the FBI knocking on my door in the middle of the night and dragging me away for sales tax delinquency. I shiver.

“Sales tax? That’s all?” you ask. “What’s the big deal?”

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