Life is changing and I'm okay with it.

It's creeping to the end of semester. Actually, this is the last week of classes, and with only one final and all but one of my final papers done (what? Only one paper left? Who am I?), it IS the end of semester. Another 4 months gone that I don't remember leaving, and, most importantly, it was the last time those 4 months will so quickly pass. I'm finished school? The thought freaks me out. I've been going to school since I was 4 years old. I don't know not going to school. A real job? No thanks. I don't want to be a big girl. It doesn't help that I convince myself daily that I'm only 23 years old (or secretly 65 years old). I still have years left before I need to worry about a career. Ok, I should have had a career 4 years ago. But I like my carefree life. I like being comfortable in my workplace. I like seeing my people everyday and knowing I get to hang out work with them everyday. 2011 has by far been ten zillion times better than 2010 and it's only April. I have high hopes.

I've neglected this little blog though. Maybe that's because I was doing homework? Real homework? I know, it's foreign to me too. What a fantastic feeling having my work done more than 26 minutes before it's due though. Why didn't I do this all along? To fellow procrastinators, try just one time doing an assignment ahead of time, I promise it's worth it. Judging by my random word-vomit thoughts I need to not neglect this blog ever again. Racing thoughts are more than just a symptom of a manic personality disorder, they are my life. Am I manic?

Where was I? Oh yes, this is a big week. It's the last week of classes. I have more than 46 seconds of spare time. I have nice hair today. I discovered an [almost] love for peanut butter (specialty peanut butter of course, my tastes are anything but regular and normal). I AM GETTING A TATTOO. All those other things were just leading up to that last one. I have pretty nice hair a lot of the time.

So it's a good thing I have nothing to focus on this week. I will spend the next 53.5 hours obsessing, going through waves of nauseousness and excitement, emotionally eating, then emotionally purging, and being more than a handful at work on Wednesday. (I'm sorry to all I work with on Wednesday, I may or may not be the biggest mess in the world. And by may not I mean most definitely will be). My ink will not be visible to the outside world. I'm getting it solely for me, and I could laugh-cry because this could quite possibly be the biggest, most permanent thing I've ever done in my life. What tells me it's the right thing to do? I haven't gone back on wanting it done. Not once have I even faltered or wondered whether I should or shouldn't get this done. I've only changed the placement 65 times. That doesn't count.

My next post will be about the experience. I have no idea what to expect. The lady that's doing it says she's had people fall asleep while getting tattooed? Who are these people? That won't be me. What if I laugh? What if I sneeze? What if I flinch? What if my blood doesn't clot and I bleed to death? What if she senses my neuroticism and refuses to tattoo me?

I hope I don't end up with 2 full sleeves.