Sold paintings that is. ! ! This morning I called the lovely woman who had decided over grilled cheese sammies last night whether to buy Untitled, above, or Orange Twist. Over night, she had decided to buy both! Joy! To the world, even! Really! Rocking mine! and hers and her family’s I hope. So that is wayyyy cool.
Last night’s opening was not about the overwhelming blast of a turnout so much as it was about me walking and talking one on one or one on two with folks about the stories of each painting. And it was fun! and it was work! and I like to work! so that was wayyyy cool.
I wore a menswear fabric draped grey mini and black everything else, black oxfords, a sparkly necklace I found in Amsterdam, etc. and my wrist brace to keep me from shaking folks’ hands all night. So my hand isn’t killing me today. Yay!
We ended up not recording at all yesterday because Dennis had a family medical emergency sadly. But we rescheduled for next Saturday. Jason and I rested and he got groceries. I planned a fun, interactive talk that never happened because it didn’t seem right last night. Hey ho. No worries.
At one am, I couldn’t breathe, AT ALL. I thought I was gonna die, to quote Rozanne Rozanna Dana. (Gilda Radner fans represent) Anyway, hoping it would work, and it did, I grabbed the inhaler from the hospital and did as I was was told, etc. and went back to bed. Didn’t wake Jason. Beat tired. Half awake/asleep. It worked. Fell asleep. Nightmares, vivid dreams. Very. Woke. Yay!
Alas. One of those days whereupon I walk Chipper and go back to bed, two art sales or no. Seriously. Aching all over. Mucinex for effing cough. But spirits are good somewhere deep down. Almost rose about 1 pm then back down, the brightness, despite Sun streaming and sparkling through window onto bookshelf beside bed. Despite Percocet/Skelaxin.
Tomorrow will request to come off stomach shots, and just manage this blood thinning on Coumadin. Paleeze. Fer real. Not a pincushion. We have reached a point. Jason and I. Yes. We wish to stop. Thank you. I could care less how I look, Jason cares, but I know the stuff, mini-bruises, etc. will disappear in their due time, it’s the pain, the situation. Stop. We shall see. Blood work tomorrow.
Stephen Colbert will be at Politics & Prose on November 16. Did I say that already? My memory is horrible. Horreeebluh. Wanted to make sure you pronounced that right. Jason has commented twice now that he has discussed things with me and has had to repeat them later. Because I have no recall. Like Alzheimer’s. But thankfully, kind of, without the behavior issues. I say kind of because I do have behavior issues as well, just not Alzheimer’s ones. DID ones. Children. You know.
So we bought Colbert’s booky wook last night and he speaks at three pm that day and we shall see if I can obtain an autograph by, like meeting someone for lunch as well that day. Because that is about the only way to beat that round the building line traffic, from what they are saying. How I would love to give him a color price list of the paintings downstairs. Ever the marketer? You know it. Spreading the joy of art? Yes. You could call it that, too. Whatever, heh. Ha.
Okay. So this week I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled every single day! Woo! No, not really woo. I kid. I do. My plan is to follow through on some things for The Front Porch, researchy things, writing things, like that chapter outline we heard so much about? eh? Yes. That was supposed to happen in October before I got so very sick/in pain. I don’t blame myself, but if I could make some decent headway before National Novel Writing Month starts next week in November, that would make writing from a flow much easier. Now, I wrote the chapter outline for Rebekah’s Closet after the fact, mind you. Some helpful literary agent booky wook thingy said I needed to have one so I made one. There. But then when I was rewriting the darned thing later, long story that, I realized how much easier it was to write from an outline. Duh. Heh.
Also, I want to practice singing for Saturday. Carey, Little Green and A Case of You.
My third goal is to follow up with my meeting with the curator for ArtSpring in Takoma Park. Send in my consignment letter. Email her my suggestions of what I would do if I was their webmistress volunteer. Email her the thumbnail images of the photos I have framed currently and ready for sale in her shoppe. Begin the discussion. She is right busy. Get back to her. Start a fire.
You know how this ends. Except I am actually feeling catlike, wishing for a lap and a fire to curl into and before. 🙂