someone is singing along to "stop your sobbing". stop it! stop it!

10 hours after prior post:
i have a new fucking tattoo. after months, nay, years, of wanting to do something to alter the insipid star on my right shoulder that i had done in amsterdam when i was 18, it is Enhanced. the experience was a delightful one. one of the artists had their i-pod blaring, so the soundtrack to the hour-plus included motorhead, metallica, and tenacious d. it all fit perfectly. jimmy, the guy who tattooed me, was excellent. we talked about new orleans. "everything they say in the guide books about not going to the cemetaries alone? believe it" he said. apparently the large cemetary adjacent to the french quarter, where marie laveau is buried, is encircled by projects, and people watch from the rooftops for lone tourists, whenupon they call their cohorts on the ground to go in and rob them. "that's pretty slick" i said. the woman next to me had 2 done while i was getting mine: a heart on her ankle (which she complained about- "the outline's too dark!"- i met the eyes of the tattoo artist and we smirked at each other) and something near her nether-regions; she was sprawled on her back on a bench for that one, her pubic hair visibly unfurling over her waistband, the windows large and open above for a prime view from boren avenue.
this is the first new tattoo i have gotten in nearly 5 years. the last one? just before i saw yes at the paramount theatre in 2002. that was a good show. afterwards i walked up the hill and listened to 'tubular bells' and wondered what the fuck i was doing in seattle, but in a "this is weird and lonely but somehow fucking cool, because i just saw fucking yes within walking distance from my lair and i have a new tattoo" kind of way.
after the tattoo i felt jaunty as fuck. the weather had changed tremendously; shortsleeved sweatiness had given way to pronounced wind and spitting rain. c fucking flaked, as i expected he would; nevertheless, it is still disheartening when someone lives up to your very lowered expectations. did he realize that this was his last chance for any sort of friendship? who fucking cares? it felt so good to walk away. i got around the corner and deleted his phone number, his ridiculous text messages, and every other trace of him. i am so tired of bullshit. it is better to be alone than tolerating crap.
thus i found myself mired in the coupled-up quagmire of a friday night, walking under blossomy wet trees on residential streets, feeling proud of myself for drawing the fucking line, for retaining a shred of pride... and feeling so fucking cynical and disillusioned that i could just break something. i talked with s. "i don't want to be cynical for the rest of my life" i said. i tried to sound light and fiddle-dee-dee as i said it, but i was standing in a wet parking lot of an auto shop at the time, wondering where the fuck i fit now, how even when my life was exponentially more fucked up i at least had a plan, a plan with another person, a dream to grow old together even if we hated each other.
neil young's "sugar mountain" is playing, and it is brilliant.