After one delay of game due to slow healing, Stage 2 of the new tattoo was completed yesterday. And it couldn't have come at a better time. Despite my many vows to not obsess about how the new book is doing, I've been...well...obsessing about how the new book is doing. It hasn't been at the front of my mind constantly, but enough for me to get a nice airy feeling in my chest when it does hit. Not good, right? This wasn't even sparked by bad news. There's just NO news yet. Sure, it's only been just over a week, but my little brain gets to come up with all of its scenarios and then fill in the blanks to the point where I'm ready to pop.
Thankfully, I made my appointment for the tattoo. Let me tell you, there's no better therapy than that. And I'm not talking about the boring, soul-baring, "how I really feel about my family", tear-spilling stuff you see on tattoo shows where some dude confesses his darkest emotions to Kat Von D. When I'm in the chair, Jesse and I talk about comic books, movies (sound familiar? Nobody escapes this crap) and I even got to bounce some Skinner stuff off of him. The main thing was that I WASN'T thinking about whatever was tying my guts into a knot before. It's kind of tough to focus long enough to induce a heart attack when someone's carving up your leg. Ok, so it wasn't as bad as that, but getting tattooed for four hours tends to draw your focus in REAL tight to the here and now. And, unlike a therapy session, I gimp away with a freaking cool memento. Pics forthcoming.
