Is this a dagger I see before me? No, a green highlighter. Right. Okay.

After two scrubbings and a shower, my hands finally no longer look as though I've been rending the flesh of mine enemies without adequate fluid barriers. I love these double chocolate cherry scones -- I wait eagerly for cherry season every year so I can make them -- but getting there is always a bit messy. You can tell I'm getting better at it, though: the year I made up the recipe, the entire kitchen counter was spotted with cherry juice. Now, a few dots, the cutting board, and my hands, oh, my gory hands.

This morning I told someone it looked like a kitcheny day, but I think it looks like a kitcheny week. There are just several things that seem like a good idea even aside from, y'know, regular meals. My freezer runneth over.

The book is booking away. Still merrily, despite being definitively into the [gulp] middle third. I would be happier if my protagonist didn't think she got to have sex every chapter. Well. I will just have to be firm with her, is all. Because this is not that kind of book.

Hmm. Apparently it's only a little bit that kind of book. But the theory of it not being that kind of book remains sound. Sound-ish. Sort of.