Monday, February 25, 2008

Pretty soon I will have no thumb left.

I have one compulsive behavior. I have done it since... I don't know. Forever? I don't remember not doing it. I don't know why I do it. There is no pattern; I don't do it more when I'm stressed out, I don't do it more when I'm bored. I just do it. All the time. It's kind of gross too so hold on to your stomachs.

I pick at the skin around my fingernails. According to experts (science!) this isn't necessarily uncommon. I just do it without thinking about it. When I notice I'm doing it, I stop. But then like 10 minutes later I'll catch myself doing it again and be all "When did this happen?"

Sometimes I'll do it just to do it. It isn't a feeling of "Oh man I have to do this right now or I'll die" but more of a "Hey! Piece of skin! What are you doing there? I'mma getcha!" And I get it. Which makes more pieces of skin kind of loosey goosey and I'm all "You! You're next!" I do it to my lip too. It's just so satisfying sometimes. Like picking a sunburn. Only it never stops.

It's really noticeable around my thumbs. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have to hide them in band-aids and I often do it to the point of making myself bleed. I used to tell people that I had burned my hands (Oh really Danielle? Only on the outside of your thumbs? In the exact same spot on both hands? HOW INTRIGUING). Thank you for not prying if I have ever given you this excuse.

Oh man I was just doing it while I was thinking of the next sentence! HA! Ha ha ha! Ha.

Sometimes I'll see other people doing it and I'll want to hug them. It's probably not such a big deal for them and I've never seen anyone with thumbs like mine (please don't stare!) but really? We're the same, you and I! I see you chewing on your on your fingers and trying to be all sneaky about it. I DO THAT TOO. Let's be bff.

The reason why I bring this up is because I ripped the hell out of my left thumb this morning and it has never bled that much or hurt that much. At least in a long time. I am taking tiny little breaths because my thumb is on fire and pain is shooting up my arm. I had to change the band-aid because I bled through the last one. FUCKING OW.

I will be spending some time Googling to figure out how to end this madness. In the meantime you all should be excited because those kids from "Once" won the Oscar for best song in a motion picture and I love them and you should too.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Boys boys boyz.

- I sit on the edge of the pool with a tee shirt over my babyish one-piece suit. My mom wouldn't let me buy a bikini. All the kids from my class are playing keep away in the pool and he's the tallest. He holds the ball high above his head as a girl jumps for it and fumbles, her hands sliding down his torso. He throws it and arcs over my head but I don't make a grab for it. The other girl chases after it, her newly blossomed body filling out her bikini like the swimsuit models over my dad's workbench. She holds onto it for longer than necessary. She's waiting until the boys notice she has it and make a move to get it from her before throwing it. Waiting to be tackled. As he lunges for her and they both go under the water I can feel my eyes well up with tears and I splash water on my face so that he doesn't see.

- After he moved he told me he loved me. He told me that when he was 400 miles away the distance made it real. I told him I'd wait for him, promised I'd go to college near him. A year later he visits all of his old friends, a group I was never really a part of, and we barely speak even though we've been e-mailing constantly because we're too shy. A year after that I return to the summer music school we attended before he left in the hope that he might go back too. While I'm in New Hampshire learning about arpeggios and the proper way to play a jazz chord I hear from a friend that he's in Rhode Island. I beg my mom to pick me up and bring me home for the weekend so I can see him but she doesn't come. Years later I find him on Facebook and feel myself blush. I wonder if he remembers what he said. I decide to never ask.

- We drive around for thirty minutes wondering what we should do and where we should go. He suggests the beach even though it's past 11pm. I am quivering, nervous that there will be a guard in the little house at the entrance. I don't break rules and the possibility of having to explain myself is terrifying. I worry and sweat the whole way there. As we pull up to the guard station I realize that there are two guards in there and they will probably want to know what two twenty one year olds are doing at the beach at 11pm. I open my mouth to tell him to turn the car around but they're already walking to us. He motions to the back of the Rav-4 where there are two fishing poles that I hadn't noticed until now. I look at the guards. They're waiting for more explanation "My brother and I," I start, my voice shaky, "go fishing late at night." I look at him and my voice becomes more confident. "The fish feed in the shallows then." He struggles not to grin and stares resolutely at the steering wheel as they wave us through the gate. We spend the night in the dunes, wrapped up in each other and the sand.