Beloved got paid, yesterday, which means I have money in the bank today. Which means that I can go out and get the life essentials, like almond milk, tub fruit, and ingredients for some adjusted noms.
The recipe originally hails from this tumblr post but I've done some twiddling.
I've replaced the sugar with Stevia, and the peanuts with almonds, and will probably remove as much of the salt as I can get away with by default. Since you can't get salted, roasted almonds anywhere near me.
And since we don't have canned pumpkin puree in our sunburned country, I'll simply nuke a butternut for 20 minutes and get a cup of that. The rest, we'll incorporate into dinner.
If it works, then I'll share the resultant recipe and potential photos with you.
I sent my first query letter off to the first agent I could, yesterday. Which is great news for my career... less than great news for my anxiety. The first alphabetical name on the list was not available. Their agency is closed for submissions. And I'll skip sending anyone anything during December.
That's when all the NaNoWriMo hopefuls come out of the woodwork with their shiny, unedited, brand new MS and high, pie-in-the-sky hopes. The poor dearies don't know that a 60K word count is the bare minimum for anything that isn't a kids' book, and most novels average out at 120K.
Ironically, I actually aim to get 120K, because that means I can churn out a novel in ten months. If it gets vitally necessary to do more, like 180K or 210K, that will take longer. Fortunately, life at Uni has taught me how to pad.
Technically, I am capable of doing 6K a week, but it's not that great in the long term. If I halve that, I can also do the fun things and communicate to my loved ones. Or, you know, wipe my bum without pain.
Wrists are bastards when they're angry.
Also, I have to ring the council and let them know that we shouldn't be paying registry for a deceased cat. Things like this... ache... And it doesn't help that my peripheral vision has been furnishing cat-like qualities on any smallish, floor-borne object. I didn't need further proof that my brain hates me, thank you.
I had vivid visions of the billion and one ways my planned makeup video could get screwed up, this Monday coming. Of course, during the time when I should have been going to sleep. Those demons are easily distracted with fanfic. And this morning, I began stressing the importance of staying the fuck away from my video shoot, directly to each of my little darlings.
And, if all else fails, I will shoot again in the middle of the day when nobody is around to fuck that shit up. So ner. Take that, anxiety.