“And baby now we got bad blood. You know it used to be mad love.” – Taylor Swift

Nine am. I made two bowls; the first two; mini break. Because I’ve got these words on the brain and they’re getting in the way. I’m going to try to make four or six more before I switch to other chores. So far = OK; never quite as painful as I feared in advance. Got pretty close to the feel of that bowl on the first try; nowhere near exact, but I shouldn’t really aim right at it anyways. Bad for the soul. Probably exaggerating that stand up rim too much, but better to do it in excess than not enough. Also, not really accounting for shrinkage, because I always forget that sixth sense after a couple weeks away from the wheel, so these will be disappointingly small when they’re done unless I crank it up. Maybe 2 1/4 instead of 2. I didn’t turn on the AC, because I hate to do it for just a few hours work time, and I’ve lots of other shit to do today, but this weather sucks and isn’t helping. Come on summer and end already. The regional Arts Orgs are on my ass about joining their Culture Trail or some such thing. How am I supposed to separate the making from the selling when external voices are hounding me about the selling? For chrissake, it’s hard enough to quiet those voices in my own head. And, hey, I know marketing is a shitshow and good titles are hard to come by, but Trail doesn’t put me in mind of leisurely spending time buying handmade food and crafts. Oregon Trail. Trail of Tears. Appalachian Trail, maybe, but that’s like insane endurance sport in the woods, not solving your first world problems via overconsumption. Bataan Death March, more like it, when you factor in shooting down I-70 at eighty MPH and all the terrible places to eat lunch. Yeah, I know, that’s a pretty terrible cynical exaggeration. But seriously, the restaurants around here are awful. I envy how Tony ‘stuck in the mud’ Clennell just lets ‘er rip. And how he doesn’t seem to feel obliged to making a beginning and ending, or a theme; it’s often just a chunk of what it is. (I’m talking about his blog, not his pots, but maybe that fits for his pots, too. In a good way.)

This is what I would write if I was as bold as him, but there’s no way I’ll just leave it as is and dump it into WordPress and push Publish.