Still awaiting my editorial notes. Getting a bit frustrated. I'd like to have them by the end of the week so I can get into the thick of things. I essentially went cold turkey on novels, and it's really starting to wear on my nerves. Tonight, I wrote a two-page Unspoken Scene from book 1-2. It helped more than I expected, but at the same time Sam Vimes comes to mind: one drink is too many, and two aren't enough.
In other news, thanks to the price of, well, everything, I've decided to go low-tech and start cooking my own staples. With the help of my KitchenAid mixer, bread is phenomenally simple and fast to make. I usually bake two to four loaves a week because they're smaller than commercial loaves. It's all very economically sound; a five-pound bag of flour is cheaper than a loaf of bread. Lean dough--flour, yeast, salt, water--bakes up tasty and nutritious, and is exceedingly flexible. Mmm, kalamata olives.
Going to get to bed. Doctor's appointment in the morning. Time to see what the lupus-or-whatever is doing. I foresee bloodloss and much prodding.