2017-01-16 - 11:11 a.m.
You know why I don't have a tattoo?
Aside of my germ phobia, (which is a non-issue when I want something bad enough)I don't have tattoos because I change too much. If I were to get something permanently etched on my skin, it's highly likely that ten years down the line I would regret it sorely. Take this diary, for instance. When I go back to the earliest entries, to see what I wrote way back when, I never fail to feel twinges of regret. Over-eager, trying too hard to be funny, blurting ideals and then-clever-to-me things that are just embarrassing now. I try not to delete but sometimes I can't help myself, and am grateful for the ability. You can't delete tattoos. You can only make them bigger.
No tats for me.
I lived through year one. Despite the graveyard being next door neighbor to their home, my in-laws chose not to go to the gravesite during that first year at all and made the 1 year mark their date to go and visit. My MIL wanted me to go, but I knew that would be very hard to watch them approach Mike's grave. I dreaded it hard until I made the decision to protect myself, and I stayed home. I had work to do and had to carefully protect myself against emotional fall-out. Somehow, it WAS different from all the other days. "One year ago today he was..." came to mind over and over. I had to carefully sidestep puddles that were actually a quick trip to the deep end of the grieving pool. I am not doing anything unhealthy, as I have grieved plenty, I just didn't want to make Friday all about that. I hadn't shared the significance of the day with my clients and would find it hard to explain to them why their work wasn't done. I was trying to keep it together, and I did.
But I let myself cry some, along the way. Like when you have gas but you just let out a little here and there to prevent an atomic fart that rips your nether region to shreds.
Just like that.
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