What could you do more of?
Right now, sitting on the couch during my lunch break with my dogs curled up on either side of me, I would say I could take more time off. I would much rather be at home than at work. With that said, I could do more saving of my money so I can actually afford not to work. I could also start exercising again. I’d like to lose more weight. I’ve been on a plateau for a good long time. Exercise would be just the thing to get the scale moving down again.
But, despite all of that— my husband will think I’m crazy for saying this—but I really think I could get more tattoos. Pretty much every month since March of this year, I have had a tattoo appointment. I think July was the exception. One tattoo took 4 sessions, with healing time in between. That tattoo was my blue, “freedom” flowers:
Then I decided to get my goldfish touched up. It had gotten pretty faded over the 20 years I had it.
Before:
After:
Then, last week I got an arm full of flowers that are supposed to look like they are knitted, but they came out looking more crocheted and I don’t think everyone can tell they’re supposed to look like yarn. When it heals completely , I’m going to go back and have the artist put a ball of yarn just above my wrist with a strand of yarn winding around the flowers and a crochet hook at the top.
I wanted these flowers on my right arm because my left arm was full at the top and this one had nothing. It bothered me. Now that it has something, I’m looking over at my left forearm and thinking it looks too bare. I only have one small tattoo on each of my legs, but I don’t want to fill my legs with ink as much as I do my arms. That got me wondering yesterday. Why is it that I want so badly for both of my arms to be heavily tattooed?
Thinking about seeing my arms full of color reminds me of the years when my arms used to be full of red lines that ran parallel down them. Like these tattoos, those lines were self inflicted. My mental health had declined so severely that cutting myself was the only way to feel better. Something about those blood red marks was beautiful to me. Certainly not to anyone else. But I needed to see them there. When they began to heal, I got the itch to make new ones. Almost as if it was an addiction. I could certainly delve much deeper into the analysis of that, but I’ll leave it at that.
I think there may be a connection between the two types of marks on my arms. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into it and have been enjoying the tattooo process so much that I just want to keep getting more. I think maybe the tattoos are also something I’ve always wanted and now I’m in a place where I feel comfortable getting them, no matter how much of my body they cover. This is me finally getting to be…well, me.
Whatever the reason, I’m going to get that yarn ball next and then wait a while. I have my left forearm still empty. That was the arm that always had the most cuts because I’m right handed. I can still see faint pink scars there, though I don’t think anyone else can.
I don’t know what I’ll want to get on that arm. Something meaningful to show I am a healed person? I have my love heart for that. Something beautiful to match the beauty I used to see in all the cuts? Maybe. Or actually, maybe I could do with all of that.
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