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So, it’s not going well on the writing front. I had three days to write like a maniac and try and catch up a bit, but it didn’t work out. I finally did get to around 3,000 words, though. That means I have about a day to get about 47,000 words written. Let’s be realistic and understand that it’s not going to happen.

This year I’m blaming time. I guess I should blame myself, but, really, I’m blaming time. I didn’t have much free. I ended up working through most of my work hours at lunch and, after traffic, I don’t have time in evening hours to get it done (although I did write some while eating dinner at some point).

Also, Thanksgiving. I made two pies for Thanksgiving: pecan and chocolate pecan. And I bought a pumpkin pie just in case the two I made turned out to be inedible. There’s only so much pie two people can eat, so I ended up taking quite a lot of pie back to the apartment.
Now, I’ve had pies in the apartment before. And, even though I live alone, I tend to cut pies into slices and then put the slice on a plate. This has lead to some hilarious shaped pie slices because there are times when I swear the knife point is in the center, but after it’s cut up it’s just way off.

The other night I wanted some of the pumpkin pie but, you see, I don’t much care for pie crust. Okay, the top crust (if it has one) is okay, especially if it’s got sugar granuales on it. And the bottom crust is fine. But the outer crust doesn’t thrill me.

And then, after six years of living alone, I had an epiphany: I didn’t have to eat the crust. Further, I don’t have to cut a slice of pie. I can just grab the pie tin and start eating from the center, if I wanted to. There’s nobody else to see it. Nobody will know. I don’t get any visitors coming over at random times hoping to get some pie.

So that’s what I did. Grabbed the pie, grabbed a fork, and ate pie until I wanted no more pie (about three bites, it turns out).

Further in the pie news, is that I mentioned to some co-workers that I was going to make the pies for Thanksgiving. And they wanted pie, too. So I broke down and made two more chocolate pecan pies; one with bourbon and one without.

I don’t like cooking for co-workers. I always worry (for no reason) that they’ll get sick off of anything I make. Or die. Or something. And it’ll be my fault. But I broke down and made them. And everyone enjoyed them. I wanted a good way to make sure people knew which one had bourbon (oddly, I don’t like spirits in my desserts) and which didn’t, so I made two ‘tags’ and taped them to the pie covers.

I worked pretty hard on those, but only one person mentioned it. I was a little disappointed.

There you go: all pies and no writing create a fairly girthy failure.

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