Fingering Outside

Emily and I had an uneven relationship. I believed I loved her far more than she loved me. It had always been that way. She had only come to be with all of us because of Brenda. Later, she had mostly stayed with us for that same reason too. If it weren't for our children, and the fact that there was something about her that really appealed to me on levels I can't adequately explain, I'd have been willing to see her out of my life on quite a few occasions.It was only when she was gone that I felt the heavy weight of my love for her. Perhaps it had more to do with always knowing I could never be as much to her as she was to me. Our relationship had certainly changed over the years, but Emily had been her consistent self, constantly finding things to complain about, and fighting against what she saw as the unfairness with how she was being treated. There were constant shifts in the balance between Emily, Brenda, and me. With my illness, the balance had once again been shifted.According. I went running a lot, clocking up at least ten miles a day, sometimes more and I visited Mum's grave every day. I talked to her, telling her what had happened and venting my anger. She never once answered.I had calmed down somewhat when I arrived at work. One of the things that I loved about my job was that I hardly saw anyone. I worked as a placer in a local potbank, not like the job of earlier times when bottle kilns were the only kiln available. My job was more civilised and a damn sight easier too. The kiln I worked on was a Siti kiln, which was actually just a conveyor belt through a gas fired furnace. It had four rows of rollers, two in, two out and an operator at each end. Firing time was around six hours with another one for cooling before it arrived at the end for removal.Ware was placed on bats (2'x1' ceramic trays) which were then placed on the relevant row, each row being four bats wide. The top two rows were for glazed ware, on was freshly glazed, off was finished ware..
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