I have been opposed to tats for my personal use for a long time. "It's
something I'll regret someday," "You can remove piercings but not
tattoos" (well, not without some laser action), "When I'm old, that'll
look tacky as hell in church" (wtf, I don't even know, but it's crossed
my mind- hey, someday when I'm closer to the end than the beginning, who
knows? I may take up some sort of religion... maybe. Doubtfully. Who
knows.)...
So. I have been thinking about it. What have I
loved since I was a kid? What will I love until the day I die? What is
something that I enjoy, appreciate, want to protect? What is something
I hold dear? What would I possibly want to have inked into my flesh
for the rest of my life?
Thought of tats always starts me
thinking about my scars. Some of them were sheer accident, like the one
on my forehead from the monkey bars in kindergarten. Some were battle
wounds: the scars I have from my first childbirth (let's not go into
that), the stretch marks I've succumbed to from carrying children. Some
were unforeseen, like the tiny ones on my toes from swimming barefoot
as a child in Pickwick Lake and catching glass on my tootsies. Some
were self-induced, like all the piercings I've had and taken out. One
is just plain stupid- the huge one on my left arm that looks like a
crazy centipede, inflicted by a broken shard of glass and requiring 25
stitches.
Tattoos, like scars, become part of the map of
your body, part of your physical appearance and makeup. They are not
something for me personally to take lightly. And I have to finish this
later b/c Greg's telling me to chop chop. I hate interrupting myself
when I'm in the middle of a good ramble...
