I only got 3k words on the Sekrit Projekt yesterday, but on the other hand I tested a butter chicken recipe for the Instant Pot and it turned out well. With a few tweaks it’ll be one of our go-to dinners–not too often, because that’s a lot of butter and heavy cream, but the kids can now request it as a fave.
The Roadtrip Z sale is going on today and tomorrow; Season 1 is $.99USD in ebook and the rest are deeply discounted. There are plenty of other price drops, all listed on the Monthly Sales page. (Don’t forget to check the dates!)
I’ve a chance to get a Covid booster today if the stars align, so that’s…not pleasant, but I’m hopeful. I don’t want to die in the hospital drowning in my own sputum, and I also don’t want to roll the dice on lifelong disability. I mask religiously but I can’t really afford the price-gouging for boosters and vaccines, so I’m crossing my fingers and wishing hard. I want to try to get a morning run in as well, in case the booster wallops me tomorrow.
Along with that, there’s an uncomfortable conversation to be had in the Sekrit Projekt, a bit of tweaking on the upcoming serial chapter, a tranche of correspondence (my inbox is a mess, but when is it not?) and Boxnoggin to walk. All these chainsaws to keep juggled, and if I miss a single one it’ll be unpleasant. Good thing my dexterity modifier is sufficient to most disasters, and when it isn’t my stubbornness rolls come into play.
Those tend to be epic indeed. Is stubbornness a constitution roll? (I wish I could still play D&D, I miss it.)
Of course I’d feel a lot better about this if the Sekrit Projekt didn’t have to be so sooper-sekrit, but I simply can’t risk opening the door yet. Protecting the work has its drawbacks as well as benefits; I’m just glad the latter outweigh the former by several orders of magnitude.
Dawn is a thin line of gold in the east, shading up ombre-style through a pale rose, an almost-white, and into the blue of morning fading through Night’s last veil. It’s gorgeous and makes me conscious that I’m about a hundred pages from the end of the Iliad. Patroclus is dead, Achilles is raging, Scamander is about to be heavily inconvenienced, and I’d love to simply polish off the rest of the poem in a blaze of coffee and birdsong. Maybe I can have it as a lunchtime reward, if I get the booster and clear a bit of wordcount.
Something to look forward to on a Tuesday, at least. Away I go, juggling roaring implements of destruction. At least I’m not on a unicycle; that would be concerning…