-August- P.S.

There are a week's worth of reheatable dinners in the fridge. They've all got separate cooking instructions, but if you're having trouble figuring out how the stove works, just remember this: nuking it from orbit is the only way to be sure.

(And by that I mean microwave it. Don't get any ideas.)

You're on your own for lunch and breakfast.

The west wing needs to be vacuumed on Wednesday. North, Friday. The south wing should be fine until I get back.

All the windows (all of them) need to be Windexed and wiped down by Tuesday.

Thursday is for dusting. Don't forget the floorboards and windowsills.

Cleaning supplies are in the broom closet in the kitchen, next to the pantry where Amanda hides her cigs. She knows the one.

If you could mop the kitchen floors that would be absolutely fantastic, seeing as there's still black stuff between the tiles. Mop's in the closet with the supplies. Bucket's on the shelf. Use water from the tub, not the sink.

Laundry can wait until I get back. We've got no major deliveries scheduled for a bit and most of you walk around half naked anyways.

Oh, and if you could do the dishes that would be great.

Call it a birthday present.

-August- Timey-Wimey Nonsense

Because a couple hours in surrealist art is not how I wanted to spend the last three days.

For those of you not following, let me give you a brief explanation: call them what you will, Mazes, Labyrinths, Loops, Hell, Why-Is-There-A-House-Floating-In-Mid-Air-Moutains-Aren't-Supposed-To-Form-Sideways-Like-That-oh-god-when-did-the-sidewalk-end-and-why-is-there-water-flowing-up-a-tree; they're pocket dimensions and they're a massive pain.

Not only do we have to worry about the neigh-infinite onslaught of proxies, as the description above points out they're also incredibly confusing. This is basically the place that physics forgot, and buildings bend in on themselves like something out of Inception, layers upon layers upon layers of reality included.

(But we'll get to that later, won't we?)

Another parallel I will so shamelessly make is the timey-wimey nonsense, from which I finally find a name for this post. Maybe it's an effect only we've noticed, (judging by Operation Wintergreen, Ava's experience in them and countless others I won't list, it's quite the contrary) but time seems to move differently, and it's completely random so every time we finally get out we have to find somewhere with a regular clock. What was a couple of hours in the loop was three whole days in the real world, so no doubt the government bigwigs are wondering where we are.

If there's any good news, it's that we've got the package and we're out of Detroit. That means 1) we're in vehicles, therefore moving faster, and 2) run-ins with our little masked compadres are sparse due to the fact that you can't be turned Blank by and eldritch abomination and pilot a car at the same time.

Sam's driving again, mostly because we haven't hit the country roads quite yet. This is probably the most boring part of the delivery, and we're all pretty disoriented after coming out of the Loop.

It's a weird feeling to lose time in a Loop. You try to fill in the three day gap and you get is two full hours between when you entered and when you got back to the van and starting listening to The Wall.

What can I say? I'm steadily developing a taste for classic rock.