There is no perfect mug, let’s just start there. There are better mugs, more functional, more pleasing to the artist eye, but that’s it. No perfection anywhere. The question I’m charged with today is how to remember this and let it settle in my bones slowly, calmly and accept it. I am not perfect, nor is anyone else. For some obnoxious reason I woke up today just knowing that I was a hopeless, worthless mess. No one should have the job of being around me, loving me or even working with me, because I’m awful. Can you please tell me where the fuck those days/weeks come from? While you’re at it, tell me what to do with my life. Please. I’ll keep thinking of ways to make mugs, challenge being that I’ll actually have to make one someday.