“We haven’t even had an opening!” I yell into the phone, feeling my nerves go on high alert. According to Vern, every one of my paintings had sold before they’d even hit the walls, something that many an artist would be thrilled about under normal circumstances. Not me. This means that instead of having a little relaxation, Vern’s gonna be on my ass for the next month, asking me when he can expect some new pieces. I love my work, really I do, but if I have to paint another brushstrok...e right now, especially when I’d caught myself eying the blacks and purples again—I’ve just managed to get out of that horrid gloom fest! —I’ll have a nervous freaking breakdown. Plus, I really don’t freaking feel well, and all I want is a few weeks of daytime television and vegging on my sofa. Oh, and a chance to further my newest plan to get a pellet gun and take out Marty. I’ve been brainstorming since the night after Parker’s wedding, after recovering from a major hangover only to find myself hanging out of the window at a precarious angle, desperate to pour out my woes to the scraggly feline.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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