...is what my doctor said to me when I finally went in for my finger.  They did an x-ray and didn't see anything, though my doc's sending it out for someone else to look at.  The most she would guess is that there's inflammation in the joint at the base of the finger, and she gave me a splint to wear to immobilize it, and I'm supposed to take ibuprofin regularly.

Sigh.

I made homemade flour tortillas this weekend for the first time, and I think I may just make them myself from now on.  So tasty, and really not all that difficult, though the process would be sped up quite a bit if I used two skillets.  I cold-brewed some coffee last night for my iced coffee today, and it was triumphantly perfect.  I'll never go back to brewing coffee regularly and either pouring it over ice or waiting for it to chill - cold-brewing is where it's at.

Tonight I'm going to make Guinness brownies with whiskey frosting, probably some banana bread because I have two bananas now too ripe for me to eat straight, and my sister's going to make zucchini bread.  When you bake in the summer, might as well go for it as long as you have the oven on.  My sister also made some salsa from tomatoes and peppers from Grandpa's garden, and I'm about ready to decant a jar.  Mmm, cooking.

There's a fine line when getting comments on fic between encouraging a writer and bullying them into writing more.  Especially when I've already replied with my thanks for the review, but I'm mostly focused on original work now and while I am trying to finish my WIPs (seriously, I am), I have no plans to write a bunch of new stuff, and I get another reply telling me to write more anyway.  I suppose it's flattering?  And I try to take it that way and brush off the rest.  But sometimes I want to say, it takes me a hell of a lot longer to write a fic than it takes you to read it, I have a lot of stuff on my plate, y'know, and bottom line, I am not your fic monkey.