Ink

I finally did the the thing I never thought I’d do. I got a tattoo. Somewhat impulsively too. For a while I had been thinking, “yeah, sure one day I’d like a tattoo.” Really though, even now I don’t think I was serious. It was more of a “yeah, I’m totally cool with people getting tattoos, and I’m people, therefore I’m cool with getting a tattoo” sort of thinking.

And then one day I went to work and decided that I needed one. Like I needed it right then. If I could have, I would have left work in the middle of the day to satisfy my tattoo antsiness. I had hit the now or never part. It wasn’t so much about getting a specific tattoo, it was more a way to lash out at being a middle-aged, stressed out working mom. A tattoo would capture spirit loss. The middle finger to middle-aged ennui. Right? Deep thoughts on ink.

TattooedBut what do I know about tattoos? Where would I go? How does the whole process work? Who do I want to permanently mark me? But I didn’t stall; I didn’t put it on the back burner. I made a phone call, texted pictures, and committed myself to an appointment. I was doing it. It was one of those moments you glide into and you can’t believe you are in the middle of it until it is actually over. I was all calm and cool until that morning. I wasn’t worried about the pain. (What could be worse than pre-epidural contractions?) I wasn’t worried about the permanence. (My skin marked forever? No problem. Feeling I may have gotten my hair cut a bit too short? The end of my world.)

I was starting to freak out about what to wear. This really isn’t surprising. My foot was still an option so a skirt was out. And if I did my foot, what condition were my feet in? How weird to have a stranger touching my foot. And then I went to wondering if I’d be comfortable in jeans. Did my comfy jeans even fit anymore? And what if I ended up getting my wrist done? Would a long sleeved shirt be cumbersome? And it was kind of rainy, so if I wore my super comfy, but kind of long linen pants would they get all wet and make me look like a ragamuffin? I’m not sure how many times I changed outfits. I was embarrassing myself in my own closet. So while I was nonchalant about getting a tattoo, I was going into overdrive over thinking a normal, everyday routine. People just wear clothes.

I finally made it out of my closet and to the tattoo parlor. My tattoo is small; an anchor, waves, and a green light on the inside of my left wrist. A personal ode to and note from The Great Gatsby. Nothing wild and crazy or huge or silly. It didn’t hurt much. A little burning. (Okay, at one point I felt my whole body get hot and tingle, but I did successfully stop myself from swearing out loud.) Nothing that would stop me from getting another tattoo. In fact I already have one picked out for my right wrist. Another Gatsby note.

Oh, and in the end I wore my super comfy linen pants.

And I’m still a middle-aged, stressed-out working mom. With a tattoo.

Recently Posted

Late Night Reading

Late-Night-Reading

I don’t know the last time I read a book for myself that wasn’t on an electrical device. I’m pretty sure it was Black Water, years ago. It feels so good to turn paper pages. To read by the soft glow of lamplight. To hold the heavy weight of words.

It’s Friday Evening And This Is What I’m Thinking

Piano-Man

I’m currently obsessed with this song.  It reminds me of my childhood. First grade was the year of dance/gymnastic routines set to Off The Wall and Thriller, performed live in our living room. And this song.  It just makes me want to dance. If you can’t rearrange your life much, rearrange your office.  I expect…

Read More »

Dear Beau… {1}

The-View-From-742-PM

Dear Beau, You were out like a light by 7:30 tonight.  I’m surprised you lasted that long tonight.  We spent most of the evening in your bed reading Magic Treehouse and coloring. It was sweet and quiet and peaceful… and we don’t do it often enough. –Mom P.S. – No zombies in the hall tonight.

Instagram Life