A Shot In The Arm

So let's all get a look at this before I show you a dozen times later.
Great to get a picture of your tattoo as soon as possible so it looks like a gross, bloody sunburn to everybody.
First of many, probably.
Oh! There's a horse going down the road!
There's a police officer riding him--it's not some animal that got over the fence or anything.
Anyway, what are we talking about?
Sarah's dead! Yes. Right you are.
I'm going to add other notes of hers that I have found, over time.
Her written word entices me more than everything else, and I'm always scanning her home, looking for stray greeting cards or grocery lists (they all just say 'avacado').
I was originally going to get an image of her face on me somewhere, like a dead dog, but they were gonna charge more to do her nose, so I changed my mind.
Man, these jokes were way more fun to make when she was around to read them.
Now there are just folks who will read them and think, "I don't know about that...you shouldn't laugh at a dead person's nose."
You should, though. As well as their feet and gait and whatever other physical faults they had.
Because we're still here, and we have the luxury of doing things like laughing and eating yogurt.
Why not enjoy both today?


*I have in fact added many notes to my bicep, just as I said I would.
There's a certain satisfaction to the process; the indelibility of it, maybe. Amidst the chaos and change that Sarah's death has brought about, I can have these million little punctures set aside where I please, and know that no matter what else happens, they'll be there.  I sport them like a badge of honor and shave my upper arm every now and then, for the sake of presentation (I feel ridiculous when I do it).
The only tricky aspect of it is that people inevitably ask what they all mean, and I can only respond by telling them that my friend went and died, so now I'm one of those guys who gets tattoos about it. Then they inevitably feel compelled to gush on about how sorry they are and that sort of thing. It's all understandable, but there's no need to apologize. None of you invented cancer. Bill Gates caused it, didn't he? Didn't he develop it in a lab somewhere? I heard that once. Whether it's true or not, if I ever meet him I'm giving that guy a piece of my mind.
This feels like I'm shoehorning content a little bit, but I'm gonna mention Belling again. Near the beginning of her paper, she mentions this: "The medium that carries and communicates the burdens and lessons of past suffering is narrative. Suffering must be constituted within a story told be a narrator who can inhabit and convey the experience of the sufferer." I don't know why, but I feel as though this is the place where I should bring this up. I mean, these notes were all first-hand markings that we shared at one time--specifically, during our Education degree, when we were supposed to be paying attention in class. Again, it seems like I'm just reaching to bridge my blogging (my ink; my tats) with my assignment, but who knows? Maybe I stick them all to plain-sight-parts of the body on purpose. Maybe I'm trying to structure the tiniest hint of narrative onto myself. Maybe I want people to ask about the tattoos. Maybe I want to get right into people's faces about it. Maybe I feel as though I'm responsible for getting her name out there, and for getting her name in people's heads.
I've been trying to come up with a stock response for anyone who says, "I'm so sorry" after asking about the tattoos--stock responses were a sort of interest for Sarah and I. I'd like to come up with one that is genuine and funny that Sarah would have appreciated. Maybe something like, "Oh, your friend passed away? I'm so sorry!"
And then I can say, "Not as sorry as her insurance salesman!" or something like that.
 
The tricky thing is that  even though I'm maybe more suited to be her narrator than anyone else, I can't "convey the experience of the sufferer." So far as I know, I don't have cancer.