Remember To Breathe

A few weeks ago, I was down in New Hope, and I decided to stop in and say hello to my tattoo guy, Joe Rose. We chatted for a bit, and then he said, "You've gotta come in so I can do touch up work."

Before I could counter with "I know I know I really do, maybe this summer," Joe got out his little appointment book and put me down for two sittings. One is tomorrow, Thursday, and 1 pm, and the other is in a week or two.

Okay.

Love my tattoo. Love it! More often than not, I have the best tattoo in the room. (Okay. I'd say "Always.") And the whole experience was like a spiritual journey. But let's be clear: it hurt! A lot! And it was quite the sigh of relief when those links of chain finally made their way down my arm to my wrist.

Jimminy Crickets.

So I sort of feel like I've survived some horrendous ordeal, but now I need to go back and have another taste of it. Like after being rescued from the remote island where I was stranded for eight years, now I have to go back and spend a week there. Just cuz.

Ah well.

I'm up for it.

And the hair grows back, right?

And I am thinking about another image. Something invoking werewolves. Although not being too implicit about it.

I'll talk it over with Joe.

Tomorrow.

At one o'clock.