Anxious Pottery

My marvelous 12 ft slabs of blue pine--8 ft of
one of which will be the top for the desk.

No, the pieces I threw (on the wheel) today in the first ceramics class of fall were not anxious. Nor was I anxious as I was throwing them. It was a relaxed and fruitful class. In fact the title of the post should probably be Pottery Anxious as the pottery state came temporally before the anxious state. The anxious state is now. I look on my to-do list and it looks like I am on top of everything and everything is moving forward as it should. But I don't feel that way. Instead I feel like you do when you are in a plane having just taken off for a foreign destination not serviced by Amazon.com. You have the nagging sense you have forgotten something you really need. The sensation builds until the realization of the identity of the forgotten item drenches you from the inside out like cold, broken up gelatin. Only I don't think I have forgotten anything. Nevertheless I keep feeling that icy, jittery, cold-gelatin-under-your-skin-rushing-down-the-body tingle. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!

My anxiety is enough that I am going to give up any pretext of writing a coherent, thoughtful post tonight. I'm not even going to try to knit. I'm going to go to bed to dream of wood and steel desks. And snuggle with my spouse (also in the reverse temporal order).