archernu

My tattoo has finally healed. I love it. The only problem is, I don't yet recognize it as part of my body. I'll walk into my bathroom, turn on the shower and start to brush my teeth when, somewhere in the process of spitting into the sick or scratching my back, I realize that there's somethine drawn there. Lo and behold, it's my second tattoo--every time. This same thing happened with the cross on my arm, too. With that one I'd catch glimpse while first regaining conciousness in the morning. I remember more than one surreal moment when I wondered What the Hell is that on my shoulder? Which reminds me...

My parents don't know about my second piece. This presents a bothersome, albeit minor, problem insofar as I almost never sleep with a shirt on, nor do I often put one on until I've need to leave my apartment. I cannot afford to shamble through my parent's house without a layer of cloth to hide my ink, however: my mother will verbally assault me, necessitating the use of tranquilizer darts. Alas, I haven't replaced those I used on my last visit home.