The horror of putting yourself out to the rest of the world, of exposing yourself, is that you run the risk of rejection from all quarters. Every time I see a new review written about one of my babies, I start shaking. I get all trembly. A girl at a Justin Bieber concert. It’s disgusting. If I checked a mirror I’d probably be pale. Half of me wants to read it right away in the hope it is good. The other half wants to wait a while, so that if it’s bad, I’m ready. I’m steeled. I won’t throw the TV again. Usually my sober self wins. Too bad for the impulsive me, as Salem West’s review was a knockout. Phew. No broken TV.  See for yourself:


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