Why do people feel compelled to define people by what they do all day? How many people love their jobs to the point of BEING their work? Yeah, way too many. But how many of those weirdos will take a beginning clay class?
My teacher for this class decided to do the name, occupation, how much experience meet-n-greet thing at the first class. I haven’t been in that situation since being diagnosed and being on SSDI (social security disability for those not in the know).
How do you answer such a question?
“Hi, I’m Jessica Lewis. Full name because I am not Jess or Jessie. I am Jessica and I am disabled.” (pause and then look at the next person in line)
Not a good way to make friends. Rather aggressive and a bit of an ‘in yo face’ attitude. Not my best moment.
The class is progressing nicely although the teacher is not taking into consideration my disability. What was that noise? Jaws falling on the floor in shock? Don’t I wish. (heavy sarcasm for the sarcasm impaired)
She had us do pinch pots at the first class. You make a ball of clay, stick your finger into the middle and literally pinch it out into shape. She had us do this with our eyes closed because she wanted to see how thin we’d make the walls and to have us get a feel for the clay. Either way it wasn’t a good exercise for someone that has numb fingers. But I played along. So I peeked a little.
Interacting with people who don’t know me and my few *snicker* quirks is proving to be interesting. Teacher tells us to apply the glaze lightly and continues to hound on it. So I tell her that we won’t apply glaze like Tammy Faye applies makeup. PAUSE. Nervous laughter. Gack, people without humor scare me mommy.
So I’m tired, grumpy, mentally fogged and having fun playing in clay.
Thought for the week: Always keep your toenails trimmed, it helps avoid unsightly mouth wounds from inserting foot into mouth.
