So, I think it's time for the tongue ring to go. I knew this day would come, when I'd wake up and decide I didn't really want it anymore, and I always wondered what I'd be thinking at the time. I think mostly I'm thinking that I'm tired of being taken for a 22-year-old, and while there aren't a lot of aspects of that within my control, this might be one of them. It was fun for a while, and I still remember getting it done on Telegraph Avenue, squeezing Andrew's hand nearly hard enough to yank it off and then realizing it was over and it hadn't even hurt. I lisped for a week, which made Natalie laugh, which is one of my favorite sounds in the whole world.
There's also something cathartic about taking it out. I got it right after I quit Westminster House, and for some reason the tongue ring seemed to mark my freedom from the job I had been letting suck my soul dry for two long years (thankfully, at least it wasn't another tattoo). But as you Berkeley folks can attest, the next two-plus years of wandering around aimlessly didn't make me feel any more free. Let's face it, I've been miserable for a really long time. So now, as I realized in a conversation with a friend last week, for the first time in a loooong time, I'm doing really well and I'm grateful for every minute of it.
I talked to Andrew a few weeks ago on the phone and shortly thereafter got an email: "I was just surprised to hear you so happy." Maybe I will take the tongue ring out to mark the occasion.
My mother will be elated....
1 comment:
If only the Chet tattoo was as easy to remove. I love it, but ...
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