So much for getting anything done on yesterday's flight. I was exhausted—hardly slept, after a small electrical fire in my room very late the night before. It was too late to roust anybody unless I was sure we needed to evacuate. As soon as the sparks flew and smoke poured from the socket, I turned off and unplugged everything, then stayed up for a couple of hours making sure that the socket and wall stayed cold and there was no more smoke and so on. At any rate, the house did not burn down, and when I reported it in the morning the landlords were shocked and distressed, and didn't charge me for that night.
And my flight did leave on time, despite the volcanic eruptions that were causing many other flights listed on the monitors to turn from city names to cancelled.
But the relief of not burning in my bed, and not spending unanticipated time abroad, combined with the fatigue, removed that edge of anxiety that usually makes work so absorbing on long flights. I spent the flight napping and reading my novel, after all.
Came home and finished off the tax forms. Mailed them off (yes, I'm a dinosaur).
They came back today: I didn't affix to the envelope the label hiding at the back of the tax booklet. Maybe next year I'll join the 21st century and file electronically.
Le sigh. Et le weekend plein de travail.