Am I happy just keeping this moment inside of myself forever?
Has been a question that I'm asking.
I'm off to my exam retreat thingy tomorrow, and rather than focusing on what's needed, we seem to be focusing on everything but. My friends want to get inked while there, and have even arranged for a guy to come on Saturday to permanently mark this moment into their bodies.
I said no. Which was surprising to everyone, since most of these people spent actual time reading my ribcage while I was upside down mid-practice. I don't look like the sort of person who turns down ink, I suppose, but I've been thinking about it a fair bit, whether this point I am at in my life is one I want to carry permanently with me.
I don't know. It's a point of transition. It would be like taking a doorframe along with me while I go, and I'm not sure how carrying doorframes works. My arms might get tired. And besides, when I reach another door, as I inevitably must, how do I know my existing doorframe will fit?
If that makes little sense to you, it's alright. It barely does to me. And it is, by all accounts, a pleasurable transition. Change becomes easier when you think of it as good. And I do. Life arranges itself around my fat, boulder self rather well, lately.
Still, is that a reason to carry it with me for always? The transition? The in-between? Don't we carry the changes with us regardless? I am leaving something and someone irrevocably behind, and I'm not likely to forget anytime soon, so then, why ink it?
My friends make me think I'm overthinking it a bit. I like them. I'm quite sure I will have a really nice time in the retreat, and it has been a fun, fantastic journey. And besides, if you're not scared of getting tattooed, why wouldn't you?
There are, in life, more meaningful things than fear that are worth considering.
I'm quite aware that I am experiencing becoming. What, I don't yet know. Will it be good? I can hope so. Am I worried about inscribing this passage into myself if it turns out to be a wrong turn? Not really. Change isn't ever wrong, I don't think.
But I am learning to listen to my body a little more, so that even when my mind is keen on getting inked, my body is saying no. So who am I, this little clump of gray matter, to fathom going against it?
I could yet change my mind. If I do, I might post here again. Which I hope I've done right. I've been meaning to for a long time, though I'm not sure my little ramble freewrite is appropriate. I hope so.
And since it's also Tuesday, I thought I'd honor the mighty 
Couldn't you be a tiny gray mouse, living inside Leonard Cohen's shirt pocket? I think I could and not get tired or long to elope, as I so often do. That fucking clarinet, man. Simply wow.
But see, if I did, I'd probably nibble at the man's chest hairs and pester him until he took us both to see Scott singing. Only just sometimes, so I could whet my appetite, and wet his shirt with all the sorrow in that beautiful face while he sings.
Well, all of Bounced Checks and Rain Dogs, really. And Hope I Don't Fall In Love With You, because I hope I don't, but it might be too late for that, so saxophones and champagne stars it is. :)
