A couple of days ago, I went in to the tattoo parlor to get my bird and flowers touched up. They healed nicely, but the touch-ups are free at this place, and certain parts of the tail feathers and petals that didn't quite stick. On Monday, I paid the man back everything I owed him and told him I'd come in on Tuesday to get it done. I left class early that day, went to work for a minute, then walked on over.

I get in there, and it's quiet; there weren't any appointments until five, so by three all the artists were on phones, talking shop or watching obscene videos pertaining to spider bite infections.

The guy sees me, gives me a wave to sit down, and walks into the back to get everything set up. I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for the act, going through my iPod for Minus the Bear (the band I chose to listen to for my outline: they definitely dimmed the painful process). He's just about ready, when the assistant comes out and goes:

"Shit, he's going to color the bird today."

Did not expect that. I follow the guy in and my artist curses him for ruining the surprise. I'm still trying to take it in, because I only prepared myself for the outline, not a whole fucking fill in. I ask why. The artist shrugs and just tells me that he appreciated me paying the rest of the tat, and that he wanted to color the bird in since he finished the outline back in September. So I got on the chair and away we went.

It was more painful than I remembered. I was alone this time, gripping the underside of the chair like it could grab me back, and I did my best not to make much noise. Minus the Bear wasn't cutting it. I put on Mercury Morning, a bit of 'what the hell' feeling, and it curbed a lot of the intense pain. I could watch him work after putting them on.

The entire experience was really amazing. I learned so much about him, about death, divine intervention, children, divorce, the meanings of tattoos versus the perception of them from others. I nearly had him crying, both of us on a smoke break and putting ashes into the head of a skull.

When it was finished, my foot was so sore. He had his assistant take me back to the dorms, and I came into my room nearly gushing about the out-of-mind feelings I was experiencing. I still can't believe it's colored, and that it will still be colored when it finally starts to heal and flake up.

Right now it's raining/snowing outside, and I am forced to wear socks I just bought in a pharmacy, on my way to get cigarettes for the trip home. The blue jay does not like socks, I will tell you, but I don't like blue toes, so we had to compromise.

I'm going to try to write something up over the weekend. There is a new club for writing that's popped up; I will definitely be there on Monday, and I'll let all of you know about it then.

I still have a good forty-five minutes until class. I hate waiting.


And... I might post pictures here. Most likely on facebook.

I wanted to post pictures here, but I must have misplaced my camera USB port wire. If you know me, check out my friend Rachel's album of the process on Facebook. It's a gorgeous tattoo, definitely my favorite; even the artist who created it was impressed with it, constantly telling me how beautiful it was coming out, his voice proud and accomplished. It was incredibly painful, more than I remember with my last tattoo on my foot, but the leg didn't hurt the same. It felt like a razor blade was cutting into my skin in flowing lines.

Overall, I love the way it looks and how it affects me. I simply wish it affected certain people more than it has.


Last night I was outside, sitting in a circle of rocks that frame a section of the hill in front of my dorm. A bunch of guys I didn't recognize -not the usual smokers -were sitting on the benches, and one of them, an awkward, curly haired individual, decided to walk up to me and speak. His friends were calling out to him, telling him not to bother me, it was a bad idea dude, et cetera, et cetera. He ignored them, and when I asked why he would ignore his friends, he told me:

"I would rather be around strangers than my friends."

He eventually left me, tripping over himself (literally), and I didn't miss him, but what he said made me ponder the concept of friendship for the socially absurd.


I've been wanting to write here for a while, but writing here feels different now than it ever has. I suppose it is inevitable; I have changed my formatting and thoughts from middle school to high school, high school to the beginning of college, so changing again is not so odd. I don't want to close down the journal, but I want to put more into it than updates and random thoughts and occurrences.

For example, I've been wanting to write an entry comparing a Shakespeare sonnet to a favored fangirl coupling from Naruto. While the surface of the idea seems to be asking for ridicule, my wish to interpret the KakaIru couple with Shakespeare's format and concepts touches the english major, literature lover part of me. When I decide to write up my idea, it might alter from what I originally planned in my mind, but it still will have caused me to look into the sonnet and the anime (or fanfic universe) for "solid" evidence that yes, Sonnet LXI can definitely be seen in the point of view of Kakashi, who is the "watchman" over Iruka.

I'm sure I'll be writing it up sometime soon, and when I do, it will be under the LJ-cut, because I feel it may be long and perhaps tedious to read. But hey, if you want to see what my mind can do when it combines my fangirl and literature buff together, read it when it comes up.

I've been writing letters again. Just wrote one to a suitemate and "mailed" it via the RA office downstairs, with an envelope and all. I will be writing another one for another suitemate soon. I'd like to have an actual penpal, but I can't imagine who would consider it and actually keep the epistolary relationship alive.


I need to figure out how to write slam poetry. Trying out for the team, and I don't even know where to begin.


My little blue jay has been around me a lot lately. I think he believes I need protecting.