Did I say something along the lines
of embarrassing myself by breaking
down and whimpering during my last
tat?! Not even close this time . . .
I was openly weeping and CURSING
by the third cut. What's a couple of
hours of demonstrative upset among
friends, anyway?! The best part is,
I was honoring my audience by only
swearing in Spanish . . . and then says
my delightful Irish-Mexican tattoo artist,
"So reminds me of my childhood . . .
growing up with Spanish and all!"
So, time to lay down and die . . .
I was sick before the tat; I was sick
during the tat and I imagine I'll still
be sick after the tat. I am indeed nigh
onto dead . . . lo these many weeks.
being sick on end
give me sleep or give me death
raise me from the dead
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