Needle in my Arm

I'm sitting here in a very nice studio in town. Typing with my left hand, because my right is torqued to the side so the artist can get to the back of my forearm. Buzzing of the tattoo gun constant. Smell of various creams and lotions wafts around the booth as they get applied repeatedly during the process. It's been about an hour so far, and the paw prints have yet to begin. Several hours ahead.

It hurts, but less than I anticipated. Occasionally a nerve or tendon gets hit enough that I have to fight off the urge to flinch, but for the most part it's very manageable.

The tattoo will be sore and red and swollen for a few days immediately following the event. Then the worst of it is done, but it still needs to be cared for. Considered all the time. A break from heavy exercise, healing lotions, staying mindful of sources of infection.

Then, though the majority of it will seem healed up on the outside, there will be weeks and weeks where it's settling in, setting up, and fully recovering. Then after a few months the wound itself will heal and it'll be just the marks that remain.

And as I sit here contemplating, the parallels between the tattoo healing physically and me healing emotionally become obvious. Though the scope and scale of losing Vally was much greater, the process seems the same. And so I'm deciding that I'm going to join those healing processes together. As my arm and chest heal, I'm going to allow the rest of me to heal. Consciously and intentionally. By the end, I think both can crystallize into the ink going into my skin. Their final form.

Getting told we’re finishing up. Shirt coming off, let's put these paw prints on me.

-M