I am apparently having a day.
I did art. Of at least 2 types I enjoy.
I put things in a pot, knowing at the end of the day, there would be yummy, hot, comforting food to eat for dinner. (Chuck roast. Potatoes. Carrots. Beef broth cube. Fresh ground pepper. Salt. Water. A drizzle of olive oil.) I was right. It was lovely. I also took concentrated orange juice and powdered sugar and made a glaze for an orange vanilla pound cake I had baked the night before, and I drizzled it over the bundt cake. And then I covered it and took it to work. I checked the break room before coming home and half of it is gone, which makes me very happy. (Not just because people ate it. Also because breakfast for tomorrow. There are 4 eggs in a pound cake. It’s totally breakfast.)
I also worked on a tattoo design of the tragedy/comedy masks with a ribbon with words on below. It’s much closer. I’m trying to decide if I want to scan in and try to teach myself vector design in Pixelmator so that I can get it all pretty and neat and tidy and colored and sized properly to take to my tattoo artist so I can say “This. I want this on my leg above the last tattoo please. How much and how long, so I know what to save, and when should we schedule it for?” But I’m scared of teaching myself a new thing. So I may end up tinkering more with pencils and paper for a bit.
And yet. And yet I’m sad. And I’ve felt lonely today. And I’ve felt as though I’m strange and different and Not Right all day long. There are weird moments, where I almost feel as though I found the correct key, and I’m part of the melody and I fit with my little silly, unique side bit, and then the main piece shifts into a major chord, and I twang discordantly in my minor key and I want to hide.
I tried to see the pretty things. There were several. I threw a frisbee ring so high and far. It was lovely and gravity defying for a moment. The leaves were drifting down in fluttering showers of yellow-orange-rusted-red to gather in the gutters, on the grass, in the street.
But I still came home tired.
And for a bit, my sweetheart was home. And we ate dinner together. And fed cats, and cuddled and played with them. And I got to curl up on the couch and just rest with my head on his chest, tucked up under his arm while he checked things and showed me things on his phone, and I mostly listened to his heart beat and felt at home; safe and loved.
And that was very, very good.
But it was still a day.
And now I want … something. Someone? Someone to talk to by typing, I think. So I’m blogging. Sometimes, I think it’s that I miss gaming on *mushes. Where there was socializing OOC and RPing that was really community story-telling or a giant game of “Yes, and then…” But I am so rusty, I don’t know what I’d do if dropped in such a world again.
Perhaps I am only feeling old. Perhaps it’s hormones. Perhaps it’s winter coming, and much as I adore Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas, I dread the anniversaries of loss.
I don’t know. I just wish my heart would settle and I could find focus in something for longer than 2 minutes.
I didn’t expect my first tattoo to be as grounding as it was.
I’d wanted to get some kind of tattoo for years before I actually did. And by “years” I mean over a decade. I tend to overthink things a bit, although as I saw it, any ink I had put on me was going to have to be treated as if it couldn’t be removed. Back then, tattoos were less removed than covered up. So I’d gone through quite a few designs before I came up with the one I eventually got. Some were discarded because they came from a different time and place in my life, or reminded me of someone I didn’t necessarily want given such a permanent place in my day to day life.
That’s me, up above. I like tattoos. I really love that one. It’s my first, and sometimes, it feels like I’ve put a fixed point in my lower back to help me focus and feel anchored. Stable. Safe.
Sometimes, I see tattoos on other people and they feel right to me like that. I wonder if their owner feels the same way about them. If the tattoo is an intrinsic part of them, or if they just kind of had the idea and had it done.
I get momentary crushes on people for their tattoos. Often girls for their tattoos, I’ve noticed. Some men, too, but more often girls. I want to know the whole story because of a simple structure of lines on their skin.
It’s not just tattoos, of course. Sometimes it’s a haircut. Or a smile. Or a piercing. A piece of unique jewelry. Their eyes. Eyes are a big deal. So can be hands.
It’s just that quick flash of “Wow, they’re amazingly attractive and… and they smiled at me and talked to me.” And I feel like I’m 10 or 12 and have that first crush that I’m not sure what to do with.
It’s also how I feel about artists sometimes. And it compounds when I learn something about them that makes me respect them.
Why as humans, are we engineered to feel this set of emotions? What is the point of the immediate interest piqued by some physical attribute? Is it a biological holdover from finding good genetic matches to continue the species? Is it simply aesthetic?
At the same time, my opinion can shift the opposite direction if I learn something I feel is negative about a person. That once interesting tattoo can just become a bit of flash, that attractive piercing just a piercing, and perhaps their eyes seem less luminous and aware.
It’s just a little odd, how attraction works and changes. Most of the time, I don’t overthink it, but every once in a while, my head gets stuck in a loop. Sometimes, I should probably think less and just enjoy the creative ways beautiful people express themselves.