. It’s that weirdly roughly fortnightly time, That time when Mr Self-Doubt N’ Loathing sets up a campfire in the back yard of my brain “Oh, Come On!” I scream “Why now?!” Mr Self Doubt just shrugs and says as he lights the fire, “Why not now!” He states “But this time,” I reply, “I have an actual gallery showing my stuff next month!” “So?” Says Mr Self-Doubt. “So?” I say aghast There is a brief silence broken only by the crackle of flames on damp wood “So!” I then say in anger “So?” He replies flatly, “We both know You are shit, Your stuff is shit, AND that You are worth more to the world as a murder victim than as a living human being” “You have sold neither art nor writing in nearly a month now… Even with a reduction sale!” He smirks “But… But… Gallery?! “That has to count for something…?” I cry “You mean that SHARED exhibition?” “Nope, Color me unimpressed,” “You can shove that flash in a pan up your flabby arse,” He nods “You, Little underachieving little bugger stain!” “I have mad...