Nobody realises that some people expend enormous energy merely to be normal - Albert Camus
My brother has suggested that I give up my pretensions of being a tattooist. He's says I'm great for sorting out his accounts, tax and finances; looking after his kids etc, but I should stop deluding myself that I'm ever going to be any good with the ink. He's a cruel man.
It all came to a head yesterday when a friend of his came in asking for the name of his girlfriend to be tattooed across his lower back. I looked at him and I said, 'look, marry her, have a few kids, get a mortgage, but a tattoo . . . a tattoo is like . . . permanent . . . '
The upshot of this is that I'm no longer working in the parlours with my big designer brother. He said I was a liability . . . okay, so I pass out at the sight of needles. Another fulfilling career bites the dust!
I've been asked to look over a friend's manuscript. It's not bad, it'd work well as a film script or a TV drama, it's all cops and robbers. I've asked for a radical re-draft, but he hasn't come back to me. I'll let him lick his wounds for awhile. I hate my work being critiqued as well. I sulk for days. Truthfully? Months on end then!!! I must get on with my own 'work in progress' - leave Patsy to her pole and Polly to her lyrics. I don't have the stamina to keep up with either.