Why I Will Never Get A Tattoo.

Why I will never get a tattoo

I have a set of wire shelves. I bought them to hold my growing collection of tee shirts. After I bought them, I figured out that one day, these shelves would make a handy pantry, if I had an empty closet to put them in, which is exactly what happened when I moved into the new house. It occurred to me that these same wire shelves would also be handy for hanging my pots and pans, which is something I wanted to do since I bought them. I might even be able to put food and other items on the shelves, and still have them arranged in such a way that I could hang the pans on the side. Hanging seemed so much nicer than putting them away in the cupboards. My mom, of course, disagreed with that point, and, since it was her kitchen, my cookware would be put away, stacked, sometimes neatly, but usually not, out of sight.

Mom has since moved out, and I'm still here. I've had the place to myself for more than a few weeks, and it dawned on me: This is my kitchen now! I don't have to keep banging my expensive pans on the little door, I can get my wire shelf out of the closet and put it up in the kitchen the way I always imagined. Now, here's where the fun begins.

I set up the wire shelves. I told myself, it was just a proof of concept, that for when I had my own apartment, I could really get it perfect, but for now, I just needed to make sure the pans would fit at all, and I would worry about where each shelf would fit later, as long as I got the general idea. Good enough was good enough. That sentiment lasted...less than a week.

So, with the concept “proven,” I then “measured twice” and “cut once,” breaking down the wire shelves and starting from scratch. This time, I knew what notch to fit each shelf in, to use the absolute bottom row, not just one near it, I figured out exactly how I would set up my pans: Three in each level, two levels; the lower level with the larger pans, the higher level with the smaller pans. I had the shelves set up in such a way that the pans I used the most were the easiest to reach. I set up the top levels to store some food, and, compared to the way I had it before, I had a whole extra shelf. I was set.

I think you can guess where this one's going.

So, the bottom two shelves, they're perfect, but I think that third shelf, where I've got some cans and a big box of candy, well, if anything, it's got too much headroom. And, the other shelf where I've got the soda bottles on their sides, that's probably the right size, but, that top shelf, well...right now, it's got some aluminum foil, and ziploc bags, and I might be able to squeeze in one extra shelf; but even if I didn't, if I can get those bags three inches lower, well, that's the difference between stretching up on my toes, and simply reaching up to get them. Once I find time to do that, I will be set.

Unless...well, unless something else happens, whatever that something is. Some day, I may buy more pans, have a bigger kitchen, who knows? But, it is this constant desire to tweak and switch, and experiment and push the boundaries until I reach some imaginary level of perfection and completeness that makes me the consummate geek.

I get it. There is something magical about getting the thing you want. I used to hate my bed, and I always wanted a memory foam mattress—not just the topper, though that would do, but the full mattress. When my mom threw out the topper when we moved, I gave her hell for it. And I let it simmer and boil until I finally made the bold move and bought a full memory foam mattress. It was partly luck, and partly obsession, that I was on Craig's List at the right time that someone was selling a full mattress for a price I could afford. Stop by Ikea on the way home for some slats (memory foam doesn't go on a coil foundation), and I'm set. But, that didn't stop me from taking a look at larger memory foam mattresses. You know, for one day. Maybe when I have some girlfriend or wife move in. But not any time soon.

But really, is anything ever really done? When you get right down to it, there's always a new computer (Ooh! Solid state drives!) , a new set of pans (Ooh! Induction!), a new everything. I wonder sometimes if I tried to tweak my ex-girlfriend the same way, trying to imagine her in better shape, and I mean both mentally and physically. She's my ex, maybe it worked. I made her too good. Or, maybe it didn't work, and I was being an asshole who was always unhappy with her.

That simultaneous happiness and unhappiness is something that won't be resolved. The only way to come close is to accept it, and move on, thereby eliminating the “unhappiness” factor in the equation. Completeness is a moving target. You will always have problems. Your problems will hopefully become higher quality problems over time, but they never stop coming. In the same way the food that goes on those shelves will be eaten, and the shelves will never stay full, those shelves will, in a metaphorical sense, never be completed. It's like Tetris: sometimes, through a combination of planning and luck, you get that perfect piece, and most of the time, you just have holes to fill. Line by line, you work on them. Until the end.

Which brings me back to the idea of getting a tattoo. I could never get one. I don't feel there's any one idea that will stick with me for my entire life. No phrase, no logo, no band, no picture that sums me up, to have this finite amount of canvass. You have to have everything perfect before you begin: the location of the tattoo, the size, the design, the color. I couldn't commit to something like that. Ever. There's an Ultimate Fighter who has a tattoo of Johnny Cash on his bicep. He got the tattoo before he started bulking up, so now Johnny has a huge chin,and looks more like Fat Albert than the man in black. So the canvass itself, your own body, can change, for the better, or for the worse, over time. I can't imagine someone with an armful of ink getting into an accident or a knife fight.

People have their own reasons to pierce this, or tattoo that. But for me, the idea of having one chance at something, no matter how much preparation goes into it, and then having the result be permanent...well it goes against everything I can be. My canvass is intensionally blank.