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Disenchanted.

I was in a rush, and highly irritated that I had to make a 5 minute stop to buy my grandmother a lottery ticket. See, I didn't have 5 minutes to spare.

Then, over to my other grandmother's house to pick up a blank canvas for my brother to frame.

I had a late start, my hair had turned out something awful. My shirt didn't fit right, so I changed. I put a run in my pantyhose. I was sweating.

Tonight probably would have turned out better if I had been in a better frame of mind. No. Tonight would have turned out better if I had been a better artist.

The facts remain:

My name was spelled incorrectly.

My painting was hung in the second room, in the corner.

. . .

Part of the deal was dinner before at the place next door to the gallery. So, I was a half a bottle of wine into it, when my grandmother decided to go peek to see where I was. (I didn't know)

Bless her heart, coming back to the table to tell me I had a good spot, next to an awfully large piece of "crap".

Lovely, I'm thinking.

I finish dinner, go outside, run into my dad, smoke a cigarette, go in.

It was obvious to me I got squeezed in. And, maybe that's okay. But, I really want to cry. Because I see now why I stopped going to school, and why I stopped going to galleries.

There is always some one better than me. I'm never the best, and I have to be the best, or I won't play. It's how I work. And, if I'm not the best, I turn out angry and bitter.

Tonight, I was not the best.

I feel much like a charity case. I feel like I didn't earn that corner spot, though I know I did.

Again, I am my own worst critic. But right now, I feel like a big nothing.

God. Why do I always choose the hard road?

. . .

The painting was not sold when I left at 7. Apparently, I didn't have to be there. No one else was, except the girl with the only painting that sold and the man with the concrete sculpture.

I'm sure I'll be going to pick the painting up on April 7th.

I didn't hear any one talking about my painting, but what kills me is that I heard people talking about a white painting with a black square on it. People actually discussing it.

At least I had breasts in my painting. At least I had that.

10:17 p.m. - 2003-03-08

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