“As I pace back and forth all this time, ’cause I honestly believed in… you.” — Yes, her again.
I hate it that there are throwing days where all I want to do is finish pots — trim, paint, carve, scrape — and finishing days where all I want to do is throw. It seems to happen too often, which makes me worry a bit about my emotional stability. A lot of wanting what you can’t have and having what you don’t want around here lately; feels like a recipe for disaster.
Today was a weird tweener day; caught betwixt the two halves of my life. Transition Thursdays are rough enough. (Pretty sure I covered that in a solipsistic groan last week in the early AM; “Fuck, man, I dunno! It’s my job to write this stuff — I can’t be expected to keep track of which one was which, too!” Ha! So great, in no small part because also so ridiculous. I would make a wretched famous and/or powerful person.)And because I also have to work a rare office Friday tomorrow, today was particularly fucktastic. Sheesh, talk about an unproductive mess. Hard to shift gears and clear my head when I know I’ve just got to shift right back.
Worse still, that means Saturday’s not likely to be much better, and after surrendering all of last weekend for birthday stuff, now I’m getting seriously behind. Ugh, fuck. Again.
Alright, thanks for indulging me in my first ‘bookends’ blogging day in a long time. Girls are on their way home, pots are wrapped up for the night, homemade red sauce is simmering on the stove. I might be a terrible potter but, ultimately, I’m pretty responsible otherwise.
Writing at both the start and end of the day; am I wearing this thing out yet, yo? And who’s to say what might happen in the middle of the night, if I can’t sleep again? If I do three posts in 24 hrs, I think Witt’s brain might melt.
Come to think of it, that’s pretty tempting.
“This isn’t Hollywood, this is a small town…”