And then I re-counted.
And then I freaked out.
Today is ninety-one days from the release of October Daye, book two, A Local Habitation. If I had a penny for every day remaining, I wouldn't even be able to buy a can of soda (taxes being what they are). Thanks to my little math error, I have just been dropped off a scheduling cliff, falling past "safely remote" and into "ha ha, gotcha." Yes, it's only nine days, but there's a psychological element to "one hundred" that isn't there with "ninety-one." (Although ninety-one is seven times thirteen, which is pretty awesome. That makes it a semiprime: a natural number that is the product of two prime numbers. Even when math betrays me, I love it so.)
Part of my calm, measured, perky productivity is the fact that I am really a lot more tightly scheduled than most people who haven't actually seen my planner ever realize. Losing nine days is a shock to the system that I didn't particularly need today, and while I'll recover in reasonably short order, I can't say I'm very happy right now.
EDIT: Here's irony for you: I made another math error. Yesterday was ninety-one days to book release. Today is ninety days to book release. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go Xerox my head.