T.G.I.T.

Yesterday didn’t go well at all. It didn’t go. As I’ve grown accustomed to over the decades and many 10,000 hour stints at the bench, sometimes metal doesn’t want to become a bicycle. Won’t become a bicycle. No matter how many tricks or backup plans you summon up. Experiential gyrations don’t work. Won’t work. Calling the metal names is futile. Acceptance is the only antidote.

Ya I had one get away on Monday. Two days worth of labor jettisoned. The conversation ended with the material having the last word. It was like Stranger Things. Only that the torch I was holding was taken from me and the heat source, the lovely green conical flame, and all my will to lure molten silver alloy rod to here and there – it went sideways. Body English epic fail. Body English as a second language.

I rue these times but accept them as part of the whole. And as I’ve done so many other days like Monday, I walk away and then return. And when I do, the dance goes like this: I Knoll the ever loving shit outa’ my workspace. Clutter gets vaporized. The floor swept. All windows washed (both sides). And all brazing tools replaced. Ordered new hoses, new tips, a new gas regulator. Cheap insurance. My way. And then I start over again. Again.

All This By Hand

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