Hush, internet, don't tell my mom, but: last week I got a tattoo.
The place, across the river in Thetford, was kind of seamy and kind of magical. Besides tattoos, they also sold cow skulls and totem polls. I was scared, but determined. My friend Hilary held my hand, metaphorically, and 15 minutes and 50 dollars later, the deed was done.
Getting a tattoo has of course made me think about what is and isn't permanent. My mother has always told me there are only two rules: No tattoos, and no piercings otherwise she will disown me. So I guess my relationship with my mom, which I had kind of put in the "permanent" category, has now evaporated. Rats.
Hilary, on the other hand, has no stipulations and has held my metaphoric hand through the ups and downs of college life the skin-deep issues, like deciding to get a tattoo, but also the incredibly painful, tear-streaked ordeals that we all go through. Yes, I am talking about Valentine's Day.
Flashback to the eve of V-Day, freshmen year: I was playing pong with the '07 guy I had convinced myself to really like. We kept pausing to scamper into some back room and kiss, and everything was Dartmouth's version of romantic... But then we lost each other, later in the night and this was the Time Before Cell Phones so I went upstairs, defeated, to his room, to get my jacket and check Blitz.
I walked in on him hooking up with a girl. An ugly girl. Raaats.
Needless to say, Hilary and I took our bromance to Homeplate that Valentine's Day, trying to feel sorry for ourselves, eating chocolate covered strawberries (this was also the Time Before Diets) and mostly just laughing. I don't think there were even any words. Just fake pouting, and laughing.
Fast forward to last week again, and Hilary is standing in the mirror with me, contemplating where exactly to place my tattoo.
"What do they say? A tattoo is a permanent reminder of a temporary emotion," she reminded me, though neither of us could remember who said that.
Fast forward a couple more days, and this year's Valentine's Day will have come and gone in the blur of Winter Carnival. I for one am kind of disappointed about it. I love pretending to be torn up about my love life for a day! It's such a welcome relief from pretending not to be torn up about it.
Last year, my only Valentine came (of course) from my mother, in the form of the very first text message she ever sent to me. It read: "valentine's day text message: You are mine." This year, because you have betrayed me, internet, my mother will have disowned me. Sigh.
Well, I guess nothing is forever. And standing there in that mirror, trying to decide whether and where to mark my body, I couldn't possibly take the significance of this tattoo too seriously. It is only as permanent as my body. So, not very permanent.
Nothing is forever! Isn't that why Winter Carnival is so great? It's something to celebrate: Whatever we do for the next four days isn't forever, it's going to go away, and then we'll go away. I don't know about you, but I fully intend to spend the weekend making bad decisions and to then wake up on Monday to nothing but blue skies and stories to laugh about at Homeplate.
And as for this Valentine's Day, buried in the storm of Winter Carnival, I am fairly certain no one actually cares one way or the other. It's just an excuse for us to act torn up about whatever it is we're supposed to be torn up about the lack of romance, the lack of significance, I guess. I don't know. I've never had a real life romantic Valentine's Day, and I've never really had high hopes for one.
Well, that's not true. There was that one year 2007 or 2008 when Hanover was buried in two feet of snow, classes were cancelled and the College actually had a snow day for the first time in something like 17 years. That was pretty romantic. I was in love with Dartmouth.
Things change. One Monday you wake up and you don't love the person you used to love anymore. It's happening between two slamfrags somewhere on campus right now, and it happens in the real world. It happened to my parents. It happens with places, frames of mind, relationships, big weekends nothing lasts forever.
Even if you wake up with a tattoo, which they tell you is really forever. It's only been a few days and I've mostly forgotten about it. But when I catch a glimpse or see it in the mirror, I do remember. So I guess, like Hilary said, it's a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.
It's a permanent reminder of these years in college now almost over when I was smart enough to know that nothing is forever, and still young and dumb enough not to be too torn up about it.
