Geez, where have I been? I've been in a stuffy, cat-hair-filled office to the side of the Porsche-S.U.V.-sheltering garage of a bajillion-dollar house in a bougainvillea-smothered residential neighborhood learning how to breathe into my panic when confronted with sheets and sheets of teeny tiny 7-point Arial billing and budgets that are at first glance horribly misaligned but upon closer inspection turn out to be deeply, Matrix-ly, beautifully interconnected. In other words, SHHHH, I AM GETTING IN TOUCH WITH MY INNER ACCOUNTANT.