10/27/2015
So, today I managed to misplace my keys. Not a huge deal, because Chris has a backup set of them. Which I then couldn't find, so I called him at work, and of course, three seconds after he picked up the phone, I found, before I could even finish explaining to him that I couldn't find the keys. Managed to get to my OT appointment on time even with the delay, and this week I have a different OT, because my regular one is on vacation.
So, since I haven't met her before, we went through the abbreviated version of 'how did you sever your tendon? Oh, you're a glass artist? I saw someone doing glassblowing once, it was really cool. Oh, you don't do that kind?' You know, the usual stuff. Then while she was working on stretching everything out and I was trying to be all 'I am woman, I will not cry even though this hurts like a... it hurts a lot', we got to talking about being an artist, and I mentioned that I'm glad to be back in the studio. She asked how it's going, and I explained that it's going fairly well, and the glass and the profanity are flowing moderately well.
*queue quizzical look*
Me: All artists swear like sailors.
OT: Really?
Me: Of course. If you don't swear, the glass/paint/metal/whatever just doesn't flow right.
OT: Every artist? I've never heard any swearing.
Me: Well, of course we don't swear when anyone's WATCHING. If someone's watching, it's all 'and this was inspired by a spiritual epiphany I had one day while watching the sun set over the rippling waters across the vista after a rainstorm.' But in our heads we're saying 'you !@$%@%@ #$^@ # #$!%ing !%@%@ of a $ #@$%^^%en @ #$^% !%$%$$!$% !$%$%$$@ #^% # why won't you !$%^%$ing work the way you're supp...oh... wait... I kinda like the way that looks. Yup, I think that'll be okay.'
OT: I see. I have a friend who paints, I'm totally going to have to ask her about it.
Me: If she tells you about being one with the flow of creativity, she's lying through her teeth.
The rest of the OT appointment went fairly well. This evening, after dinner at my parents', Chris and I turned the house upside down looking for my keys. At one point, he was lying on the floor on one side of the bed with a flashlight, and said 'I don't see them here, but there's a pile of stuff midway down on your side of the bed that I can't see through.' So I worked my way down onto the floor on my side to look. It wasn't the keys.
It was a non-full box of kleenex. The reason that it was non-full is that someone, who shall remain nameless, had apparently carefully plucked most of the kleenex from the box one clawful at a time. At least he didn't completely shred them, I suppose. I stuffed most of them back into the box, discarded the few that had apparently been more uppity than the rest, and we resumed the hunt for my keys. We checked my craftroom, both vehicles, the garage studio, my craftroom, the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, my craftroom, the computer room, and finally found them. In my craftroom, a room that both of us had ALREADY searched multiple times, under a thing in the middle of a pile of stuff that I know I moved and looked under at least TWICE, and which Chris said he's pretty sure he'd checked once, too.
*mutter*
In other news, mom gave me money for my birthday with instructions to spend it on more craft supplies. Yay!