Income Taxes--Fiorella's least favorite chore of the year, probably because she doesn't like working with numbers, she doesn't like having to search out papers stashed away in the depths of her desk, and she's always dreadfully afraid she'll make a mistake.
Fiorella's left leg is still stiff, she still has a bad cold, and her bought-and-paid-for newspaper was not delivered today. GRRRRRRR!
THREE CHEERS! Your girl finally found a therapist, and that good lady is urging her to concentrate on her music and art, which means you'll be seeing a lot of references to piano compositions and paintbrushes from now on. Maybe Fio will even find a way to put some of her paintings on Blogger!
In the meantime, Fiorella will ponder which of her half-finished canvases she will attack first--the unfinished portrait of her father-in-law, the larger canvas of her nuclear family, or maybe one of her nude sketches, which are hidden on the back of her bedroom door.
Regarding her music, your girl will pound away on her piano until the end of its days, which may be earlier than expected--it's electric and cannot be repaired.
PS: Wishing there were something more interesting on television than other television.
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