Friday October 19. 2001
another comedy of errors
I have this thing about locking my keys inside something. Whenever locking my car, my apartment, the drawers in my studio, I am insanely, weirdly paranoid about my keys. A couple weeks ago I accidently locked them in a drawer in my studio, but it was a small matter of going to get the bolt cutter and liberating them.
I work in the tool room every Thrusday night until 10. I'm the last one there for the night, so I usually lock it up behind me, of course making sure my keys are in hand. But this time, I just glanced in my bag and thought I saw them. I went down to the ceramics studio, investigated my bag more thoroughly, and discovered they were nowhere to be found. I had a sudden clear mental picture of them sitting on top of the tool room desk.
To make a long story short, I couldn't find a single police, security or maintenance person on campus who had the keys to the tool room. Only the faculty and the grad students have the key. To make a long story short, I was shit out of luck until they arrived at school at 8:45 the next morning.
I was pissed, and angry, and tired, because I had gotten almost no sleep the night before, and it looked like I was going to be denied again. The dusty blue couch in the ceramics studio bathed in harsh fluorescent light wasn't exactly conducive to restful sleep. I sat there, pissed and freaking out, and Lindsay, one of the grad students, suggested I call Drea and see if I could crash at her place for the night.
So I did. I called her at work, and she picked me up around 12, and we drove back in the cold, quiet dark to her apartment in Fox Chase. She has a really nice apartment, and an equally nice sofa bed that she let me sleep on. Poor Drea. I can't believe all that she's juggling right now. She's doing her tour of student teaching at a Phildelphia City school, which is no picnic to begin with, as well as working part time and TA'ing for a couple of classes at school. This particular day, she was at school from 8 to 3, and then worked from 4 til 11, only to wake up and do it all over again. So she was not a happy camper when she woke me up this morning. We drove to Tyler, munching bagels and Entenmann's doughnuts on the way.
I got my keys back, and finally got home to take a shower and brush my teeth. Utter bliss.
So, the kiln. I unloaded it, and got mixed results. A very uneven reduction, which is resulted in a wide variety of colors (reduction: when you shut the air off in the kiln, forcing the combusting gas in the kiln to suck all the air that's in the glaze and the clay, hopefully making some really beautiful colors). I made copious notes in my sketchbook as to what happened where, so I can learn from my mistakes next time. I wanted to take some pictures of the kiln and the work, but I kept forgetting to bring my camera. I'll try to photograph the next one.
One Year Ago:
"Don't ask me what I've been up to in this last week, I don't even remember."
Two Years Ago:
"It was rather comforting to be around my family again, my mother with her weird cheerfulness and quirkiness, my father, ever the devil's advocate, and of course my overly loud sister disagreeing with my father at every turn. I'd forgotten all of this."