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August 26, 2003
He was kind enough, trusting enough, to let me listen to his cd. Musician: did not appear to be shy, but maybe he was a little. So I take the cd, put in the player, and listen, love everything I hear, really. But when I tell him about it, I criticize everything. The nerve! I’m nice, but critical. Then it hits me: I’m sounding like my parents. No! No! Stop the insanity! Every word out of my mouth, judged, reviewed, every part of me analyzed, racked over the coals in hopes of an unreachable result: perfection. The chain is broken.