Diary - Thursday, June 21st, 2001

Back.

I hurt again.

And I have this to say. Getting work done on the shoulder blade hurts more than on the spine. Well, at least in me. Curling around that edge of bone...

Jesus Christ, I found myself thinking "This is mind blowing. This is trippy. Look at me sitting here in absolute agony. I must be insane."

Then she switched to near my spine and the pain of it all was still intense, but not so bad. Not so much as though all I had between me and being a rather odd specimen for scapulamancy was about half a centimeter of flesh.

I wonder what such a divination would bring.

I've always thought of myself as annoyingly well-padded. Brandt for years has been telling me that it was another example of the deranged body-obsession women have been taught to believe. I'm gradually, grudgingly, beginning to wonder if maybe he's right. At least over my shoulder area.

More outlining work, and doesn't that needle cut deep? I asked Claudia what work she'd had done, curious as she has nothing visible. She tells me that she's practiced on herself, with no ink in the gun, and that once, before a master would let her work on someone else, he put a single, fine needle in a filler gun and dragged it down her leg so hard veins were damaged in the muscle. Just to teach her to always have a light hand, so that she'd know what the pain of bad work was like.

Apparently she screamed and swore at him.

This made me feel better. Somehow the worst is when Claudia pats me "Poor thing, it hurts, doesn't it?"

That's always been a mistake of mine, confusing pity with patronisation.

I feel oddly glad that she thought that her own punishment was a good thing. There are some teachings you should remember.