Man, it's cold.

Cold enough that I want to cook chili and cornbread, or make a huge vat of popcorn and sit on the sofa with "Little Women" on my Kindle and read for hours.

I definitely don't want to do any work. ;-)

I was supposed to go approve my new tattoo artwork this afternoon, but it's too yucky, so I'll go Thursday. I'm partially excited, partially sad about it.

Manda drew the artwork I'm having worked on for me for Mother's day and I had the tattoo done 5 years ago (on my birthday, oddly enough). Now it's just a constant reminder that for many years of my life I was having a relationship with someone I didn't know and, more importantly, someone who didn't know me. I'm not having the mother image obliterated, but I'm not anyone's mother anymore and I know without a doubt that I don't have the right to be proud of having been one, because, at best, I wasn't a good enough mother. At worst, I was a malignant one. It's funny, but I was so happy to be her mother, and when I hear what she believes about me, what she thinks, her opinions of me and how I raised her, I feel dirty, like a criminal. I'm ashamed and the love that is the center of my soul starts to get corrupted. I would have sworn, even two years ago, that was impossible. I know better now. Nothing is impossible.

So, I'm having morning glories and their vines inked around it, for a couple of reasons. The biggest one is morning glories make me smile and I like smiling. Also, they're a symbol of hope and of lifting your heart to the sun and letting the light in. I like how they curl into themselves and protect themselves in the darkness, too. And climb. I'm a climber.

I still want to see the mother, because I have faith that one day I'll find that joy that comes from innocence again (I tell myself that my godgirl can't possibly love someone so much if I'm toxic to the touch), but I need to make the mother mine.

I also would like another cup of coffee.