Ink

My uncle introduced me to tattoos when I was a child simply by having them on his forearms. I believe he has one on each forearm and one on each bicep, but I only remember the tiger. It crawled toward his wrist, from what I recall, and he must have got it when he was young because it faded well with age.

I liked them. I didn’t know explicitly that I would get one until I was older but get one I did, shortly before my son was born. It’s on the top of my back and usually hidden by my clothes. People are surprised when they see it, and the first comment is usually along the lines of, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” followed up with, “Can I see it?” because it’s only peeking out the top of my shirt.

Recently I got another. This one will be much more visible as it’s positioned on the inside of my wrist, and I’m not in the habit of wearing long sleeves. It will be clear to many people why I got it when they see it, and I’m thrilled with what my artist whipped up from what I told her I wanted.

It itches right now, having entered the scabby/flaky stage. I’m thrilled for this, and the art is healing well. My first tattoo suffered from my not being able to see it, and not wanting to ask for help with its aftercare, but this one will not. This one, I’m pleased to say, I have not yet picked or fussed with except for adding perhaps a tad more ointment than I was instructed.

There’s another itch, though, too. Almost before the redness had faded and the swelling had gone down, I began to want another. The same arm, unfortunately, which will create a slightly unbalanced distribution of art, and almost certainly likely to create a need to add to the other arm, and then full sleeves before you know it. (I’m only joking about the timeline, so you know.)

And so that’s where I am. Itching, healing, admiring, and so happy with my new ink.

Fully healed and stuffed
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Third of 2018, January

It’s my birthday! I’m officially 40. I’m very happy to be 40, and I’ve had a lovely day so far.

I slept in until about 11 a.m., but that was after waking up at 6 a.m. and getting everyone off to school and work. So technically I took a four-hour nap an hour after waking up. That was lovely.

Then I did my morning routine things that I usually do when the kids are getting ready, and which I should be doing an hour before they need to even get up. But last night I went to a late movie and didn’t get to bed until nearly 2 a.m., so I forgave myself not waking at 5 a.m. today.

Then I watched some Black Mirror and replied to a lot of birthday wishes (thank you, everyone!) and by then it was already time for kids to get home from school, so I postponed my errands until that happened.

Then out into the cold! I’ve been needing air in my tires for a week (since it first got supercold), and so took care of that, got lunch from the gas station, forgot to get actual gas, and then went to a tattoo parlor to get an appointment. I was a bit nervous to go in, but overcame it, just like the haircut. It actually worked out much more perfectly than I could have imagined, and in 9 days I’ll be sporting some new ink. I’m quite excited about that.

And then back into the cold! Off to pick up my laptop which I left somewhere warm so I could see that movie last night without breaking the electronics (never leave your electronic toys in the cold or hot, folks!), visited with the custodians of my laptop, returned a package to its rightful owner, and went to get the gas I’d forgotten earlier.

Then dinner. I used to work at Pizza Hut and I still love their food. And bonus, a 50% off all online orders coupon got me my food for half price! Brought it home, ate, watched some YouTube (got sucked into YouTube, really – so easy, yet so treacherous), and now that everyone’s asleep, I’m writing.

Technically I’m blogging. But it’s still writing, and I still count blog words.

I’m 40! 😀

I had a great day. It wasn’t anything special except that I feel special, and grateful, and loved.  I am looking forward to this year – the ups and the inevitable downs – the hard work and the joy and all the good stuff.

And the books. There is an enormous pile of very good books to read.

And to write. 40 stories in my 40th year. Time to get cracking!

Self Portrait at 40