Written in Ink: Tattoo'd Me

Now for something, completely different...

About fourteen(?) years ago, I became part of a group that has become relatively mainstream in the last decade. Once the experiential realm of the eccentrics, sailors, rockers and oddballs, the life of the proud tattoo-owner is as "traditional" as what passes as "alternative" music.

When I got my first tattoo, it was a very personal thing which I hid from my parents, athough I was already married with a child. Weird, I know, but in some small way it was an opportunity to rebel against my parents. Even today, to see me on the street or at work, I suspect that there is no obvious visible indication that I have ever been inked.

I guess I'm just kind of a plain looking cat whom most would not suspect of being party to this kind of thing. I must admit, I kind of like it that way, and even during road races and runs I am too self-conscious to take my shirt off. It is only recently that I'll wear muscle shirts (without the muscles) while running, just as a matter of comfort.

Now, it has been many years since I was inked with my last (eighth) tattoo, and I have decided to look back at them. Not to lament the stupidity of this image or that name, but rather to consider what it was that internally persuaded me (often on a lark) to have that particular "it" Written in Ink.

Breathe in, breathe out... YOU AND I ARE ALIVE!