I felt like crap. I must have looked like crap to Donna, our HR manager, too. ‘Walt, you look like death warmed over. You OK?’ ‘Yeah, Donna, I�...m all right. Just didn’t sleep much last night. Anything new happening this morning?’ ‘Our boss is on the rampage about this year’s budget. I guess that’s not new, is it?’ ‘Nope. I’m going to get a cup of coffee, and then I’ll have another look at the numbers. Maybe if I change some accruals, he’ll be happier.’ Every year it was like this. The year-end. I set my packages down on the kitchen counter, got a bottle of water out of the fridge. Then I just went and sat down on the couch to wait. I put my feet up and relaxed, the day at the medical clinic I run had been shorter but busier than normal, they hurt. It wasn’t long, perhaps 10 minutes before Jon came out of my bedroom, looking a little sheepish. I looked him up and down, he was wearing just his trousers. Not even any socks. I suppose he expected me to cut loose into a tirade, but I just. More

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