Specifically, bottling an Old Ale that I started a coupla weeks ago, and which has finally gotten to that stage of matters. I got 32 pints in the bottle, then had to stop and run a few more bottles through the dishwasher to sanitize ’em. (I can’t fit more than 32 bottles into the dishwasher at a time.)
And this in between running T here and there (putting the student newspaper to bed and working on a group project at a friend’s house), and tending to M because L has gone off to a Sewing Guild officer’s meeting—which means I’m not getting any of my writing work done because M won’t let me be to concentrate on it. I’m also not getting to the grocery store to do any shopping, although we’re out of several staples around here.
(ETA: I got 38 pints bottled and on the shelf to condition for the next month, and please God it’ll carbonate properly and I won’t have a bunch of flat beer.)
Your evil twin flies to the brewery for the polluted goldfish. Fnord.
