Death By Cuticle

I have a very serious ailment.

For a reason that I cannot explain, yesterday I grabbed my cuticle on the side of my pinkie nail with my teeth and ripped it down to the quick.

Then I shot myself in the foot. Well, I wish I had because at least then I would have something else to focus on besides this radiating pain in my pinkie finger.

First thing this morning I put a band-aid around the tip of my pinkie to buffer it from flying objects and hammers. Didn’t matter, anything that could hit it, smack it, slam it, brush past it, wink at it, did and good God did my eyes bleed every time. This thing has a heartbeat. I know that I sound like I’m whining. It’s because I am, I am whining about my poor pinkie finger.

I’m a whiner. No shame.

Joe scoffed that it couldn’t possibly be that bad, that people must just handle pain differently. He said that to me, to a woman who just five weeks ago birthed a child out of her vagina. Yeah, we all just handle pain differently. Right. If my finger looked how it felt it would be the size of an apple and be oozing puss.

I’m contemplating breaking the finger just to get some relief. I’m secretly hoping that when I do remove the band-aid (next year) that there is puss, then I will feel justified.

Yes, that was me just hoping for a pussed up, infected cuticle just so I could feel justified in all my whining.

Like I said, no shame.


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I love it when you say things to me that reinforce me positively. So...carry on then, do that thing. Lastly, capital hat!