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The ibuprofen and heating pad weren’t working and I had a passing thought that maybe I should bring out the big guns: Beer and Bengay. Then I decided the hangover wouldn’t be worth it and the Bengay would leave me smelling like a one hundred and thirty pound breath mint. What I really needed was sleep, lots and lots of sleep. I needed to curl up in my 1500 count Egyptian
cotton sheets cocooned in my taupe velour blanket and sleep like a well-fed baby. Scratch that. Why do people always say they want to sleep like a baby? Everyone knows babies never sleep. No, I didn’t want to sleep like a baby; I wanted to sleep like a ninety-year-old man in a hot church on Sunday.
Max Logan’s insecurities have consumed her to the point that she has allowed them to skew her perceptions of people and circumstances. She has grown progressively more bitter, sarcastic, and solitary since her divorce and feels as though she has spent a lifetime getting the short end of the stick through no fault of her own; still she trudges on. Things can always get better, right? Of course, it’s hard to cultivate optimism when she finds herself dead; the victim of a D.I.E (Death in Error) caused by an overeager Grim Reaper in Training. She brokers a deal to be sent back to Earth as a temporary substitute for the Superintendent of Spiritual Impediment. Can a girl who can’t recognize her own problems rectify the issues of the living impaired? Or will she discover that concentrating on their issues gives her a new perspective on her own?
Available May 1, 2013 from www.WhiskeyCreekPress.com