Nerves on strike

Oddly enough (though I'm certainly not complaining) The Itching Time has passed me completely in the tattoo-healing process this time around. My snake is almost done with the first and most important and noticeable part of healing, where the dead top layer of skin peels away (or scabs and then peels away form some people, but not for me), and so far, nary so much as a twitch has come from the fresh new skin revealed.

Usually by this time I'm damn near mad with the desire to scratch the bejesus out of the newly inked skin, or hack of whatever hunk of flesh bears it, whichever would be faster. The itching of a healing tattoo isn't like a mosquito bite that itches cnstantly but generally dully so; it's a driving, needling, sharp and firey painful itch that strikes at random moments and leaves you desperate for relief. It makes you twitch and squirm and snarl and try to come up with as many ways as possible to scratch it without actually scratching the skin (I've found that a paper towel placed as a barrier between nails and skin works well.)

This time, though - nothing. I have not once suddenly gone rigid, with clenched teeth and bulging eyes. I haven't groaned piteously. I haven't leapt up from my chair and run to the lunch room for a paper towel, knocking down anyone and anything in my way. My nerves have been oddly quiet. I think they're on strike.

I think that the nearly five-and-a-half hours of constnt tattooing was too much for them, and now they're rebelling, refusing to tell my brain that my arm is really one firey, jabbing, throbbing mass of itchiness.

I'm not saying my arm is numb - the nerves aren't dead; I can feel everything in that arm perfectly well except itching.

Not that I'm complaining. In fact, I'm thrilled. I didn't throttle anyone this week; this is a good thing. It would be a completely different story had The Itching Time commenced as usual; Sarah is getting married next Monday and so has been out all week and David and I have had to scramble to make up for it (it figures than in six months of drudgingly slow work, the one week we're down a person is when all the big stuff comes pouring in.) I'm counting myself (and everyone around me) very lucky indeed.

Maybe getting so much work done that the part of my body being tattooed goes into a sort of shock is a good thing ...

Kidding. Sorta. I know, I know; shock is bad. But damn if it isn't ocnvenient at times, too.

Photos soon. Promise.

Of fish and flames

As Mama Wren wrote in her post today, a large fire has been burning in the Lake Tahoe area, not terribly far from both her home and mine. They're calling it the Angora Fire, and photos of brown and grey devastation riddle the pages of both our newspaper and the Sacramento Bee. The numbers alone are staggering: over 200 structures - many of them homes - have been destroyed, and it's not over yet. Further, its destroying forested areas whose terrain are pretty unique to the area. Being as it's 40+ miles up the hill from Mama Wren's nest, and there for about 50+ miles up the hill from me, I'm not packing up and heading to Grandma's yet, but I wonder.

There is a story that will be running in our newspaper tomorrow about the Nation Fire Protection Association recommending that everyone have a good fire escape plan, and to practice it. This is, of course, because of the Angora Fire, but the angle of the story is that it's a good way to celebrate Fire Prevention Week 2007 ... which is taking place in mid-October, with the Great American Fire Drill.

In October. After the worst of the fire season has already passed and left whatever devastation it will leave. And that's when everyone, country-wide, should practice it. You can even download your very own "I Did The Drill" certificate. You know, just for that extra bit of protection/forewarning/speed that might save your your life as you run for it.

Fire Prevention Week is held in October to mark the anniversary of the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. You'd think that in the 85 years the Association has been observing Fire Prevention Week, someone would have tipped them off to the fact that while yes, fires can occur in October, there are a hell of a lot more of them in summer. When it's hotter and drier.

I love stupid people. Really. It's free entertainment, right? Sigh.

I'm pretty sure that the boy and I won't have any trouble getting out of our home if a fire starts up. We're in a tiny little one-room apartment, with a bathroom and kitchen both so small that we have to take turns standing in them. There's really not much to plan there: if a fire starts, grab the necessities and run out the door. If the door is blocked by the fire, hop up onto the bed in the bedroom and climb out the window. We can pack a few bags of basic necessities and keep them in our vehicles, away from a home-fire, so we don't need to try to find them and drag them out of harm's way at a critical moment. Things like computers and CDs and such would suck to lose, but they are replaceable, and not necessary to day-to-day survival, so we won't worry about them (too much).

Easy.

What I wonder about is what I'll do with my three pet fish in case of a fire.

Oh sure, laugh. It is kinda funny, or at least a funny thing to worry about. Harry will be taken care of; he has a cage that he can be transported in, and extra heating and lighting equipment to set up wherever we may end up after fleeing a burning home. But the fish? I don't have an extra tank lying around, and ten-gallons of water isn't something you can just tuck under one arm and run with. So, I wonder: should I leave the fish in the case of a fire, hoping that the flames are put out before things get so hot that they shatter the glass of the one, ten-gallon tank and melt the plastic of the other, two-and-a-half-gallon tank? Should I dump both large-ish fancy goldfish (Fred and George) into the two-and-a-half-gallon with the tiny lil' betta (Maedeiu) and try to take that with me? Should I dump both tanks into the bathtub or kitchen sink and hope the water doesn't evaporate in the heat?

These are the kinds of things that keep me up at night. I know the boy and I will be ok, but damn if my pets aren't my kids, and I worry over them if they so much as move a bit more slowly than usual one morning when I feed them. I can't help it; I love the lil' stinkers.

So, in very-early recognition of Fire Prevention Week, I'm going to attempt to figure out what the hell to do with the fish if a fire breaks out at home. Maybe I'll just take them all to work; it's located just aroudn the corner and up the road from the fire station, so response time would probably ensure their survival in their respective tanks there. But then I wouldn't get to enjoy them at home ...

Sigh. Ah, the constant worries of the pet-owner.

Folks, do be smarter than the National Fire Protection Association — plan for and practice your fire escape plans now, not when it may already be too late. Your kids, furry and scaled and human alike, depend on it.

I know some people like this ...

This was a birthday present from Mama and Papa Wren. A cute little doggy with a pen shoved up his ass. (I love you, Mom, but cut it out with the subtle warnings to never under any circumstances move back into the nest, mmm'kay?)

Discuss.

Hello, my name is Sausage Woman

That oughtta get this blog some hits ...

So. I'm 26 now. Feels an awful lot like 25. Two days ago - the day before my birthday - I finally got the horned viper tattoo on my left arm colored in. It's beautiful, if you can see past the swelling. No, there's nothing wrong with the tattoo; no infection, it wasn't done poorly, the artist didn't have a heavy hand, etc. It's simply a big fucking tattoo, going from my wrist to half way up my upper arm. That's alot of ink, and a lot of pain.

At just under five and a half hours straight this was my longest ink session yet, and I'm now paying for it. I wanted to get the whole thing done all at once, so that I woldn't be walking around with a half-finished tattoo, and now pride is biting me in the ass. Or rather, the arm. Although I seem to tolerate pain very well, my body doesn't; due to having so much work done in one area, my arm is in shock, so to speak.

Although the only pain right now is a sort of pulling ache when I stretch that arm, that arm is pretty swollen, and has been since Saturday. Holding both arms up side by side, it almost looks like the arms of two differemt people: I have a fat person's arm on a non-fat person's body. The swelling goes from elbow to the first finger knuckles, so my hand looks wierd, too - all puffy and pudgy looking, with nice slim fingers. It's kinda creepy, actually.

Now, before you go and get all worried-parent-ish on me, let me tell you know that it's perfectly ok. My arm is not going to fall off. I am not going to lose feeling in it. It's not going to grow pussy sores (har, har) and leak gross stuff all over the place. I am not going to die. I promise.

This reaction is a natural one. Most tattoos swell; the amount of the swelling is usually proportional to the size of the tattoo and the sensitivity of the tattooee's (is that a word?) skin. Being all manner of Irish and Scanadanavian, all you have to do is look at me hard and I bruise, so needles jabbing over and over again is definatley going to made my skin mad and as I said before, it's a big tattoo, so my arm never really had a chance.

It's not as swollen today as it was yesterday, though, so it is calming down. And 800 mg of Ibuprofen have tamed the aching joints in my wrist and hand (just for shits and giggles, my arthritis kicked in yesterday all of it's own accord, and due to the swelling either wouldn't or couldn't go away.) So, virtually pain free, I'm enjoying the easy time I have until the healing kicks into high gear and the dead top layer of skin starts to peel off and itch like a motherfucker. Once that gets going, I'll be damn near rabid and my coworkers may well have to restrain me so I can't find a way to scratch it and thereby screw it up.

As a warning, any posts made during The Itching Time will probably be senseless and full of odd profanties and dire threats to just about anyone who happens to wander into my line of sight or thought, but I won't actually mean any of it (and I will realize this and apologize once The Itching Time stops in about a week ...)

All that said, I'm ridiculously thrilled. I can't stop looking at all the pretty colors. I'd post photos of it, but it would look better to wait till the swelling is gone and it's fully healed. Look for photos sometime next week and until then, have a great week and stay away from sausage-armed small people (especially if they're twitching spasmodically.)

To make up for yesterday's grossness,

here are some kitten toes.

I love cuteoverload.com It's fuzz-therapy to the max.