/lit/ - Literature

>>10970588
I used to be prejudiced against tattoos because my father was very much anti-body modification in any way. He was very traditional, but flawed, and he became a reactionary in his later years. Part of that, I suspect, was not being able to live up to his own ideals. I only applied myself because of him, and he didn't get to see it.

Autumn always was my favourite season, the best time to read. The temperature was always right for me, and I loved dressing up for Halloween most of all. Once friends got their licenses I'd get rides all over, from the shore to old forgotten roads, and autumn always was the best time to look out the window and take it all in. Corn mazes were a blast, too. Seeing the leaves fall off the trees, building piles, and hiding in them. Nothing was better.

Winter is too harsh and confining, not as comfy as photographers or landscape painters make it out to be. They lie. And as the snow begins melting you become aware of all the dirt beneath the pure white surface. All of the discarded cigarette butts, animal waste, and garbage people just tossed there, the unraked leaves. Cities are worse because all of the traffic kicks up slush onto the snowbanks, and there's an indetermimable gray muck everywhere. Sand and salt get tracked indoors. The whole thing is a mess and it amazes me how much human effort goes into sustaining the whole enterprise we've put together for ourselves, just the effort to achieve a hint of comfort.

Spring isn't much better. Spring is nature's desperate attempt to wash it all away. When I was living in a small town I'd look out my little window down this one road that led to a town with even less prospects. The sight was very evocative, but never pleasant, because with each year it seemed it took the trees even longer to regrow their leaves. I used to imagine a day where they'd just stop altogether.

Summer is only nice if you live near the shore, but otherwise it's too stifling with the heat. I don't have much to say about it, but I long for childhood when my mom and I would skip stones in the creek. She's too weak now, and has trouble moving, but she never took care of herself.

You're very thoughtful, though, I like how you can articulate why you don't like them. That's easier to respect and understand instead of pure revulsion. Truth is, I'm not comfortable with my naked flesh so I want to cover it up. To be naked is to be vulnerable. In a different life I'd have been born with the ability to conceive, and I'd dutifully fill that role, always having breakfast and supper ready, perfecting that pumpkin pie recipe. Yet here I am, having to settle, and trying to come to terms with the fact that this is life. All people do is settle.

*furiously hits update*