adornment.

they warned me it would become like an addiction, and i laughed it off.

but they were right, as the infamous they so frequently are. it has become like an addiction. it hasn't become a full-fledged addiction, because i lack the money to indulge, but it is an approaching shadow.

body art. the desire had lain dormant for years, eleven to be exact. that was the time i got the second hole punched in my ears, and by that time i'd had enough. or so i thought. fast forward to last august, wherein i received the infamous tattoo. since then, my dreams have brought fevered scenes of second tattoos (just in time for the wedding) and new piercings (high cartilege in the ear, the bellybutton)...i flush when i think of these, my heart rate rises and i get swept up in the excitement, wide awake and thrilled.

kind of like how it feels to be on a coke binge, only with less worry that my heart's about to explode.

but the thrill, the thrill remains the same. i'm not certain why this is; it's the same kind of thrill i experienced when i was younger and did something bad, like smoking or cutting class. it was an assertion that my life was MINE. i suppose that in a way, i feel like i'm asserting the same thing by entertaining notions of further self-adornment; showing the world that it's my body and i will do as i please with it. the difference being, of course, that this time around nobody's going to tell me i can't. i am an adult, and my life is most certainly and thoroughly mine. so i feel fortunate that i still get that same, illicit thrill.

and, more to the point, since i quit smoking my family hasn't really got a leg to stand on with me about self-mutilation--i've already cut out the worst thing i could possibly do to my body (in their estimation).

plus there's the extra bonus of my wild hypochondria to steer me clear of particularly stupid behavior...though i suspect that with regards to tattoos that self preservation instinct might need some work.