hell is pastel

I have been moving so fast over the past many days that I honestly haven’t had time to think, at all. I’ve gone from one thing to another to another. I don’t even have the time or the energy to watch a show as I fall asleep with Dunkyn. I tried last night, couldn’t even make it. Part of this is really nice. I’m not thinking about things, I don’t have time to really feel much. It’s a nice relief. However, I’m accustom to being more grounded(?) than I am right now—more aware. It’s a little like vertigo inducing or something. One distraction to the next. Not sure how much longer this can last (as I don’t have anything unscheduled in the next several days, I guess awhile longer), but I suppose I should just enjoy it while I can get a break from reality.
One of the ways I distracted myself was painting pottery with my brother this weekend. Huh, just realized something. The search for the gift certificate and all I found on that quest is when the distraction tirade started. Should have realized that before. No wonder. Well, I hope the distractions last for quite a bit longer. I don’t wanna have to relook at that again. Anyway, pottery.
He got a certificate to a place we’d never been before. We both love doing these together, actually, there’s not much we don’t enjoy doing together. This place was like entering the Twilight Zone. It was Precious Moments meets Sunday School meets Stepford meets The Hills Have Eyes.
It was one of those places where the absence of music or background noise is creepy. Complete silence except for the owners and their cheerfully creepy assistant’s voices. The husband wasn’t too bad, but he was partially blind and used a walking stick. Lucky bastard. The wife, at first glance, was semi-normal looking. Just another fifty-sixtyish church lady. However, her falsely cheerful laughter and encouraging words about every stroke of paint everybody made did nothing to hide the cannibalistic hunger barely caged inside of her.
The assistant, who I believe was formed from mitosis from the church lady, was quickly learning her craft. At one point, another customer (adult) had an exacto-knife that she was using on her piece. When she set it down beside her, the assistant rushed over, scooping it up, and breathless asked if she were done using it. The lady said that she wasn’t. In a stressed voice, the girl expressed concern over the safety of having a blade lying around. She was worried a child might pick it up and harm themselves. (There were no children in the damn place). After the church lady had already looked at my piece and commented that I must be in a dark place in my life or mood or something, I was already seething. This preposterousness over the blade put me over the edge. I looked over and said, “You have a point. I’ve been known to go around cutting things when I see sharp objects lying around.” She didn’t quite know how to respond. The other customer seemed to appreciate knowing she wasn’t alone in this alternate universe. To my dismay my comment didn’t have the desired affect of making assistant girl keep her distance. As I went back to the sink to wash some of my materials, she followed. There she proceeded to guess every place she might have run into me. I’d never heard of anyplace she inquired about. It was bizarre, and rather like a feline in heat trying to rub her musk over me without my noticing. It was if she were debating whether to mount me while eating my face as she mated or quote Bible verses to save my soul.
Every piece I’d done previous had a mermaid or ocean theme. Shocking, right? The piece I chose this time was the largest I’d ever done. A big platter. I hope to use it at a cake plate. For some reason, when I saw it, it was like the design was already on the plate. Of course, I used my typical Earth tone pallet, but painted tree branches jutting in from the side of the piece with a bird silhouette against the background. Hardly original, but it looked gorgeous (although you never know until it’s fired). This is the piece that showed the darkness of my soul. Of course, ever piece church lady had done was in not-so-varying pastel tones. There are few things I hate worse than pastel colors, even more than primary colors. She actually had a bit of Professor Umbridge in her. She’d stand over my shoulder making false complimentary comments, all the while making strange, guttural noises from her throat. Each comment she made to children in the store the next day when we came in sounded as if she were speaking to retarded piglets. All the while picturing them roasting in a pain, their skins hung up to tan.
A few minutes after we left, church lady called my brother’s phone. For me. Great. He handed me the phone. She inquired, in a quite concerned apologetic tone, if I realized I’d painted my bird upside down. Incredulous, I had her repeat her inquiry. Yep, upside down. Now, granted, I don’t remember if I centered the scene with the handles or not. To be honest, I don’t care. I kind of like it when things are at an angle. However, my branches that were jutting out from the side of the piece, church lady turned to be coming out of the bottom so that they were trees, making the bird’s situation on the branch very precarious. Not bothering to try to explain that not all things have to completely literal or pastel, I told her to go with it and fire the damn thing. Both of us felt the need to rinse of the crazy in boiling water. Maybe it’s time for the exorcism that people have offered me.