I knew I was stuck when I finally had a chance (encouraged by my Farmer!) to get into the pottery studio and I didn't even want to sit at the wheel. I dug some clay out of the reclaim bag and smooshed it like a lousy stress ball. I made a cracked, ugly pinch-pot. Braided a lopsided braid.
Then I did what I finally realized I'd wanted to do all along: slam that clay down as hard as I could. Felt good.
I talked with my potter friend while I mismanaged the clay, and then left.
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I've been waiting on my blog, too, checking in every couple of days to see if anything had maybe changed in my absence. But with nothing to say. Nuthin'. Not even for my "what's for supper", which should be easy enough to keep up to date.
I'm still stuck.
Not sure when I'll come unstuck (or - oh dear - unglued? unhinged?!). But I'm still here ... wherever "here" is.
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{This reminds me of when I'd call my little sister and get her answering machine. She used to have one of those machines with an actual tape in it, I think, so that you only had an allotted time for your message, and then you got cut off. So naturally I'd try to fill it up, then call back and just pick up where I'd been interrupted. Maybe chastise the machine's bad manners. Just filling up space, till she'd pick up - or for her to laugh at, later.}
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This post, I'm just marking time. Documenting the nothingness, if you will.
And I have every confidence that I'll read it later, and laugh - because something better will have come to pass. The fog will have cleared, and I will see again.
