I think when I grow up I want to write copy for the Bank of Canada releases.
From this morning: "The Bank is maintaining its extraordinary forward guidance, reinforced and supplemented by its quantitative easing (QE) program, which continues at its current pace of at least $4 billion per week."
Not sure if I should offer to hold Mr. Macklem's coffee while he pats himself on the back or go spend like a maniac before they raise the rates and everything slides sideways again.
Caleb is doing his best not to laugh at my absolutely mainstream, emotional take on this mornings readings. He sips his coffee and basks in the company, in spite of the fact that I am still in pajamas. Historically Caleb likes it when I dress professionally for work. He likes office stilettos and smart Chanel suits and red lipstick and long eyelashes and diamond bracelets and so today, since I don't even have to leave the house to work anymore, I arrived in my baby-blue Sanrio Sentimental Circus pajamas (clean ones) and thick red socks. I'm wearing no makeup, no jewellery, but I did bring my bag with me (RIGHT. WE'RE NOT GOING TO TO TALK ABOUT WHO CARRIES HER HANDBAG AROUND HER OWN DAMN HOUSE BECAUSE IF THE QUEEN CAN DO IT SO CAN I), which contains my favourite calculator (from Henry's Grade 11 math class) and my pens, notebooks, phone and laptop. Oh, and the lipstick aforementioned. And there's most likely a ring or two and probably a bracelet in there. And chapstick. And pepper spray.
(And a lock-picking set.)
(But ANYWAY.)
(I'll add a picture eventually, in case you don't believe me.)
(Not right now though, I have work to do.)
It's taxes day. Here I go.
I hate taxes. Especially this year but I already sent out a group message for everyone to count exactly how many days they worked from home in 2020, if they worked at all. I know that answer so I will know if they try and make something up.