Dyscalculia

I can't make any sense of this spreadsheet. It's 7:30 and my stomach is sour and we've been working on taxes all day, and just when we thought we were done, these goddamn numbers just won't, add, up. 

Katie raises her hands to her cheeks, like Munch's The Scream or a slasher-movie queen about to give vent to an unhinged shriek, and then stops. 

"I really cannot do this anymore today," she says semi-calmly, slowly lowering her hands and placing them, palms-down, flat on the table.

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One year ago: Sunshine Yellow

Two years ago: A Poetics of Politics

Three years ago: The Best I Could Do

Five years ago: They Were Delicious (with apologies to my wife and WCW (no relation))