somnambulance

don’t you hate when you’re feeling like you’ve had a bad week/day, and then you look back at all the stuff you did and notice that nothing bad(or even less than good) actually happened, and it’s all because you’re just being a big baby complaining about your lack of human connection and meaning and purpose, when you clearly can have all the connection and purpose you want? and that you’re probably just being a dick by continuing to go on and on about it like your problems are something important, when you can’t even figure out what your problems are, and everyone else in the world actually has real ones? don’t you feel like an ass for complaining about your lot in life as a well-adjusted white american male with a secure job and loved ones and intellect, while people in other parts of the world actually have to worry about getting limbs amputated or maybe dying of starvation/war/disease the next day? aren’t you disappointed when you realize you’ve been blessed from birth with everything you could ever need and are still unable to manifest any form of contentment? and don’t you feel guilty for even feeling that disappointment in the first place, as if you had anything real to be disappointed about? do you ever find yourself almost wishing to be faced with a devastating, life-altering situation so that you can then have something actually real to concern yourself with, and maybe then the truth of your character can finally be released into the world without trepidation, because it will be the only thing you have left? isn’t that all you really have anyway, and the rest is just filler to maintain the ant-hill of malcontent you’ve spent your life building?

yeah. me too.

ah, home sweet home.

so, tattoo conventions really aren’t my favorite thing in the world. they are actually pretty weird. i still do them from time to time, and for the most part i’m able to enjoy the experience… but i usually feel like everyone there is in on something i’m not. i’ve worked dozens of conventions in multiple states and countries, but at this point one is pretty much indecipherable from the next. at any given tattoo convention, you are guaranteed to see countless, poorly conceieved and executed neck/hand/facial tattoos, a lot of very uninteresting things for sale, bored & drunk fortysomethings hovering at every corner, at least one small clique of egregiously underdressed females, and a few tattooers who are really killing it. to be fair, there are also always really nice people that let you borrow shit you forgot to bring, the occasional person who actually takes time to look through your portfolio and asks sincere questions about getting tattooed, and a few people you’ve seen around before at other shows that you can talk shit with.  all in all, there’s a lot of things about tattoo conventions that kinda bum me out, but there’s usually that one new friend, or that one new customer, that you would never be in the same room with otherwise and it makes the whole thing worthwhile. come to think of it, it’s not unlike tattooing itself.

so, i worked one this past weekend in marysville, WA, which is about an hour north of seattle. not really the kind of place i choose to go, but it just kind of worked out that i’d be going to this one. i will say that i really wasn’t expecting much, and was actually kind of dreading the whole thing… normally i have appointments booked for the whole weekend at these things, but i was going with nothing on this one and it seemed weird. but things actually went really well, our hotel room was kind of fancy and therefore really funny to stay in, and i did some fun tattooing without stressing out about it. i only got one picture though(and it kind of sucks):

i’m actually pretty happy with my weekend. now i am going to sleep with olive, because i missed her dearly.