Since the move, I’ve been getting my ducks in a row. I’ve bought some supplies, and done some drawing. The other day I finally got around to cleaning the press, which I felt it would appreciate before I put it to work. It was interesting getting to know it better in this way… discovering that it used to be painted bright blue by looking into little nooks and crannies, getting a better picture about how the mechanics actually work and why pieces of it are shaped the way they are… But it remains very mysterious to me. When I look at the counter, which has about 16,000 of its prints accounted for, I wonder what kinds of things it has made. I wonder about the people who have used it and loved it before me. I wonder if I would know if something went wrong with it, or if it would silently work in pain.

Brushing its teeth.

It’s probably fairly obvious from the picture that I’m scared of the press. So many parts of it could eat my appendages off without thinking about it. While I was sitting underneath cleaning it, I imagined the back of it falling off and crushing me. I wondered who would find my body. I think this will fade, because even now I don’t think of it as a malicious creature, just one that means business. But a healthy dose of fear is probably, in this case, not a bad thing. I’m determined to keep all my fingers, so I will continue to respect its authority.

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