Well, by this time next week, I will be freshly re-inked.
I’m more excited than nervous, which like, never happens to me.
How excited am I? Well, I dreamed about it last night.
Cue: soft, gentle, sleeping music
I walk into the shop and I’m hardly even in the chair and the process begins.
My parents are there and Dad ends up paying for my session. (reality check: I am 29. I would never expect my parents to pay for my modifications.)
It hurts 100% less than I remember.
For some reason, my shirt is all the way off (reality check: it’d just need be tucked under my bra as my tat is on my hipish) and the artist says that she can fix the discoloring of my shoulder.
Before I know it, she’s making swoopy rainclouds from my spine to the middle of my shoulder blade (reality check x2: I am not getting any new ink. I would not be brave enough to ink my shoulder blade.) I see the white and gray inks splattering onto my arm; I have my arms crossed under my chin.
Meanwhile, I fall asleep. While being [dreaming about being] tattoed.
When I wake up, my original ink is corrected to how it should have been the first time.