Update Geekring links

_data/metadata.js

@@ -81,8 +81,8 @@ module.exports = {
 		{
 			name: "Geekring",
 			ringURL: "https://geekring.net/",
-			previousURL: "",
-			nextURL: ""
+			previousURL: "http://geekring.net/site/350/previous",
+			nextURL: "http://geekring.net/site/350/next"
 		}
 	]
 }

content/blog/patience.md

@@ -13,4 +13,4 @@ Some time ago, maybe a year or so, I extruded a batch of incense sticks from som
 
 [![A small piece of a coreless, Japanese-style incense stick burning in a black cast-iron burner.](/img/dragons_blood_incense_copy.avif "The last fragment.")](/img/dragons_blood_incense_copy.avif)
 
-While rustling around in search of a controller, I discovered the thin plastic tube, noticing two small fragments of incense sliding about as I lifted the tube from the basket. As I lit the first fragment this morning, I was met with a wonderfully clear impression of dragon's blood, uplifted by the bright citrus of Hojari frankincense, on a sweet, warm, woody base; my incense had turned out well after all. Unfortunately, the recipe, written on the tube in dry-erase marker, had long worn off; thinking the batch was a failure, I hadn't recorded it anywhere else. Burning those last two fragments today was bittersweet; all I had needed to do was wait. I'm frustrated about a number of things here, there is something nice about the resolution. By failing to record the recipe, I got to experience something rare and unique today. In those peaceful, fragrant moments, I experienced something lovely for the first and last time – and I learned a thing or two about patience.
+While rustling around in search of a controller, I discovered the thin plastic tube, noticing two small fragments of incense sliding about as I lifted the tube from the basket. As I lit the first fragment this morning, I was met with a wonderfully clear impression of dragon's blood, uplifted by the bright citrus of Hojari frankincense, on a sweet, warm, woody base; my incense had turned out well after all. Unfortunately, the recipe, written on the tube in dry-erase marker, had long worn off; thinking the batch was a failure, I hadn't recorded it anywhere else. Burning those last two fragments today was bittersweet; all I had needed to do was wait. I'm frustrated about a number of things here, but there is something oddly gratifying about the situation. By failing to record the recipe, I got to experience something rare and unique today. In those peaceful, fragrant moments, I experienced something lovely for the first and last time – and I learned a thing or two about patience.