Tonight, I spent time lying in bed, thinking about my body and how it's mine. It took me so long to feel this kind of ownership over it. It took the growing acceptance of my death, really.

All flesh is grass and all its glory like the flowers of the field.

It's like ... I've had a lot of internal change in the last couple years about why I'm living and I know it's because I'm not just having to survive any longer. I spent so long feeling like everything I did was so that we could survive. But hey, we're both alive. Right now, at least, we have jobs. I burned myself hard getting us here...

... but now we're alive. And unlike when we were stretched at capacity, I feel like I can choose how I want to live. and I can choose what I want for my body.

I also have disposable income and it's not that I haven't had it before but the thought I'd spend it to put something on my body that's primarily for me? That's a new adjustment.

I also finally have a job where I don't worry it will impair my prospects of getting another one. Some of the higher-ups have VISIBLE tattoos. That's huge.

But you know how I said death? I think that's the other thing---not all the tattoos I want will be visible. I think I want a memento mori on my thigh.

Also, while my body has always been for me, I think my body has become more for me in the last few months as I live without my partner most of the time. As someone who's been in a relationship a LONG time that can be good.

And I think a lot about my death, my corpse, not because I'm suicidal (which is also a change because I've had those) and... what am I saving the skin FOR?

The other thing that's happening is I'm aging. I'm not old, but I'm 32 & I can see it in my body. My knees hurt sometimes. 😆 I have gray hairs and my skin does things I don't like...