Nono, it totally makes sense. Bear with me.
Dorothy Parker once said:
“I hate writing. I love having written.”
Which–I don’t know about other writers, but I find this to be entirely accurate, some of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. We all do, that’s why we do it. I just hate it when it’s not working properly. But that’s most of the time, and that’s what really sticks–the pain, the suffering, the “why can’t you get yourselves out of this plot hole!?” that I wail to my characters. But having a finished story or novel in my hands (not a feeling I’ve had recently)–nothing compares to that, really.
Piercing is much the same. I hate getting pierced. I love being pierced.
And I mean that quite quite literally. I not only like the jewelry and the prettiness, I actually like the week of throbbing and the awful crusties that happen for months afterwards. It’s just the 6 seconds of piercing and inserting jewelry that I don’t like.
Both painful processes that I do anyway.
Really there was no point to this post, no moral or lesson. I suppose there should be. But it was just a parallel that occurred to me.
And if you are wondering why I have piercing on the brain, um, well, see, I found this awesome piercing/tattoo place within walking distance… yeah…