inked

going to get my birthday tattoo tonight.

what is it that makes me walk into a shop and sit down and willingly wound myself for a statement? why do i need the permanency of a picture on my body?

its curious.

tonight i hope to invite a spider to rest on my wrist for the rest of my life, with her web underneath where my veins lay blue and twisted. i know she is the right choice. i can feel her pulling herself into me, as i wait for my night to begin.

and to make it more clear, there is now a spider spinning a web from the star on our xmas tree.

i know there are a lot of people getting tattoos out there, and a whole lot more who can't understand why the hell i am doing it. my husband, for one. i know that he quite actively dislikes it, but tries his best to find his way to at least appreciate my decision. i am grateful to him for that.

my parents can't fathom why i would want to. my grandfather couldn't stand it, and told me so.

and i admit there is a part of me that is still searching for the reason why i choose to go under the needle, but the fact is i need to tell the story of my life. it turns out that words alone don't quite do it for me; or at least words on paper. the finality of letters and images on my skin doesn't scare me, it soothes me. it makes me feel like a real live girl. makes me feel that each twinge of pain as i deep breathe through the color is reminding me that i am awake, and right where i need to be.

and yet at the same time reminding me of where i've been and who i used to be.

there is a seriousness to all of this, isn't there? and there damn well should be, since i can't erase it. but there is also a part of this that reminds of being a kid, and drawing on my skin with markers, and delighting in how fancy my body could look with all of that art.

turns out it still makes me really happy.