Music. My best friend, my worst enemy. Music has always had the ability to calm me down, but certain associations have made music downright painful. My preferred method of transport is Little Suzuki Sunshine, but that’s not always possible in Florida’s hurricane season. Today the weather app threatened certain soaking so I opted for safer 4-wheels. The rain never came, but the drive flooded my senses. I love me some Lady Gaga. I came out of work and was greeted by the first song I’d ever heard by the Lady, Just Dance. I remember one time in particular, driving down Gratiot on my way home in the pouring rain (rain seems to be a theme) and this song came on. I blasted it. It made me feel so free, so alive. I had already established a romantic involvement with music pretty much from birth, but clubby music had become my obsession. Lady Gaga delivered. I just wanted to dance from that day forward. So here I am many years later ending my day with “Just Dance” and starting my day with Pitbull’s “Give Me Everything”. There’s way too much associated with that one.

It never ended up raining. Boo hoo, right? I guess I’m just spoiled. The view from the inside of a motorcycle helmet will beat the view from any land-bound rover’s windshield. I ride in silence, with my level of clumsy the last thing I need to do is impede a vital sense of awareness with a Bluetooth receiver. It’s hard to drive in silence, it’s so boring. Music it is, but I’ve managed to avoid being cornered alone with music and memories for so long it made me feel trapped. Defeated. Music has never done that for me (or to me) before.

It’s such a delicious mistress, music. She seduces me through the initial drop and keeps me coming back for more. Pain turns to pleasure no matter how hard I try to resist. So, I stopped resisting.

It’s incredible how things can mean so much and so little at the same time. That’s what numbness does I suppose. I’ve been so busy in positive (and positively nerve-wracking) activities that I realized I’ve barely posted. That’s defeating the point of this endeavor. I need to open up more, explore what’s inside and manifest the f*ck outta some prosperity. Sure, being busy with drawing, tattooing and building is indeed an excuse for not having time to post, but it’s still an excuse. I don’t do excuses. There is no room for excuses in my trajectory.

I have tons of things to journal about, new technologies to review, new techniques to share, tattooing and otherwise. Introspection, dreams, hopes, fears. I look forward to posting when I sit down to do it, I just need to make sure I always find a time to sit down and do it.

I’m so not sign-girl, nor could I ever be as presumptuous as to take global weather patterns and turn them into twists fated for my benefit. But driving, being reunited with emotions, feelings, convictions, memories and loves as well as pains, is good for me right now. These feelings are there, they always will be. They’re mine, I created them I must live with them. And I do, and will. They inspire and discourage me, fuel and deplete me, push and pull me. That’s what they’re supposed to do.

I came in early to tattoo one of the owners and Sargeant At Arms of Iron 305 Motorcycle Club. The salon was popping with Britney (more club memories) until Mario exercised his veto and Guns’N’Roses took over. The set switch helped reassociate my love for music, all music. And memories, all memories no matter how beautifully painful.

At least today, it rained.

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