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I'm afraid of Americans.

It's started.

People who know people who know people are going to be looking at my paintings. Probably this week.

Like I should be, I'm nervous. And I'm not nervous for only myself, but for my grandmother as well. It's one thing to hate your own art work enough to believe it will never sell, it's quite another to believe in someone else and have them let you down.

Maybe this will sound strange, but I'm not afraid of rejection. I never have been, because I know rejection.

Rejection and I are hand in hand.

It's success I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of making it, and then falling down, for what ever reason. Life's funny that way. Take a big step foward, and a few million steps back. And the pressure. The pressure! I felt it at over 100 readers of a diary, I can't imagine how I'll react to a show.

I'm not equipped to deal with that type of thing.

I'm jumping the gun.

But. How long has it been since a nobody came up to be famous before they died with a brush in their hands, and paint on their arms?

I wish I knew, so I could talk myself out of the dream and settle into something a little less painful.

3:22 p.m. - 2003-02-25

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