Confirming my theory that time flies whether you’re having fun or not, it’s been six weeks since my last tattoo removal treatment, so I’m headed out tomorrow on a road trip to Crapchester. I have my Hello Kitty ice packs in the freezer and my lidocaine cream set to go. Now I'm just waiting on the latest weather report (Why do I live in the middle of something called "the snow belt"?) and I'm hoping the trip is a go. I'm looking forward to four hours in the car with Levi Kreis and Eric Hutchinson. Wow, where have you guys been hiding these people? Amazing.I've been trying to blog a little about my trip to the City, but it's just not coming. I'm still walking on air about it, I admit. I just had the best time. In that nutty, frantic place I felt more peaceful than I've felt in a long time. I noticed that I cried a little everyday, but not because I was sad. I think I was just so full of emotion and so relieved to have the space (mental and physical) to work it out that it just came. It felt great to just let whatever happened happen.
Twice during the week I stopped by St. Patrick's Cathedral right as mass was starting so I stayed through the service. That's right, I WENT TO MASS. I wasn't high or being held against my will, I just went to mass. I grew up Catholic, but it's been twenty-five good years since I've darkened the doors of St. Whoever's Whatever. But that day I just had a lot of thinking to do, and it was cold outside, so I decided to go to mass. What's nuts is that this many years later I could still mouth the whole damn mass with the priest, every last word. Although he threw me during the homily - he was going on and on about Mark something-or-other and I was looking down at my lap just thinking about the meaning of life and about an old priest that I knew back in Washington, and at one point the dude was saying something about something that ended, "And we are all sons of God." Well, my neck snapped up and my eyes were big as saucers because, sure enough, I was certain he was about to say, "sons of bitches" as in, "And we are all sons of bitches". It's a much more familiar phrase for me, I guess, and as soon as I heard the "sons of . . . " part, I thought, oh my God, church has changed.
Before the service even started I noticed how many businessmen and women were coming to mass on their lunch hours, and later that night when I was talking with my friend Angie on the phone I mentioned that maybe mass would be a good place to pick up a guy. I was just saying it kind of as an observation, not as a personal plan, but she freaked and went off about how many issues a guy has to have to go to mass every day on his lunch hour. Angie's a good friend. Everyone needs an Angie.
Earlier in the week I had picked up a book called, "Regrets Only: Contemporary Poets on the Theme of Regret" but it might as well have been called, "Hey, Long Story Longer, This One's For You." I don't think I really have any significant regrets, but the whole melancholy/introspective/what if/reflection thing? I eat that shit for breakfast. So I sat in mass and listened off and on and read my book. It was so calming that one of the days I sat through mass twice. That is so funny to me. Mass twice in one day. God. Am I going to heaven now?
I'm still getting through all the e-mails and comments that I got last week. You kids are so clever with your snarky comments. What fun. I missed being in touch with all of my regulars, and I even took a quick peek at some favorite blogs about mid-week because I missed you too much. But I still have some catch-up reading to do, and it's driving me a little crazy. I want to know what is going on. Anyway, so I'll be catching up on my reading and trying to get some photos and stories up here in the next day or so. In the mean time, come on guys: both fingers crossed for the tat appointment!
Update: Crap! The doctor had to cancel today so I rescheduled for next week. Is this not in the cards or what?