The PB has somehow managed to get herself hired for a freelance writing project. She'll be writing about art, a refreshing change from writing about cancer, her last big project. The details of an 18th-century chair are much easier to understand and communicate about than the neuroendocrine system.
But this means that her generally prolific blogosity will likely diminish for the next few weeks, unless the project moves along more smoothly than she expects and she has a few words left at the end of her fingers.
At this point, she's looking at 12- to 16-hour writing days for about a month. That's another fine excuse to live on Diet Coke and takeout pizza — and just in time, now that we have clean tap water again.
Possum and Wendy send their regards. (Wendy is actually sending a blank stare, but that's still more than we expect from her.)
Time to get to it.