Ceramics makes me tense.

I'm out of step, a little behind. My classmates swear good-naturedly at the mud on their hands, but I have no good nature when it comes to the creative process. I growl in my throat when my walls collapse.

The professor can smell my irritation. I worry I will be like this all my life, loving the finished product, but too tense to enjoy drawing it up out of mud and water. Shoving it aside, putting it off, creating more work for later on, wishing it was glazed so I could put it up on the shelf already.

Ceramics makes me tense.