Clucking Futz

Recently I've had a spate of tumbler-related clumsiness, which is really beginning to tick me off. To wit, roughly one month ago – in the morning while checking the weather channel – I brush my hand against an empty glass on the coffee table. And in my attempt to steady it, I powerslam it to the table. Many shards involved. A lot of blood. To my credit I only said dammit – though Kerry recalls I did it very loud and angry-like.

Last week I was putting clean glasses away in the kitchen, and for some reason I tried to put one through the bottom of the cupboard instead of the normal-person way. Few pieces this time, but no blood. Curse word: A whispered sssssssssssh*t.

And yesterday morning while aiming for the snooze button, my hand goes through my bedside glass of water. Fortunately this one didn't bust, but there was plenty of water and wires mixing together on the bedroom floor. Curse word: A quiet morning shoot.

So what's going on? I used to have a pretty spotless clutz record. Recently though, my depth perception has been really wacked. I hope it's just a bout of tough luck.

Related side note: As far back as I can remember, I always knew if I was drawing something good if I accidentally drooled on it. It happened with the maps I used to make as a kid. In college I painted an A.M. Cassandre-themed 1930s travel poster in gouache for an assignment, and after many hours – right near the moment of completion – I hung a big gob of drool on it. My brother has it on his living-room wall now, and you can still see the stain (it got an A, so the drool theory stands correct).