Thursday, December 9, 2010

Samibal the Cannibal

Today's post should be SUPER appreciated, because unlike yesterday, I didn't blunder through Classic American Literature for you, but I *did* type this on my raw, bleeding nubbins of fingertips. Quite the picture, no? No.

Basically, I bite and/or chew my fingers. NOT my fingerNAILS (although I will if they get in the way) - I mean my ACTUAL fingers. Sometimes I realize it's because something is burning away on my mind. Other times, well, I missed Triscuit and cheese time by a good hour or so and I really just need a snack.

Either way, it's hard to feel full of the prett-ay when your fingers are oozing from a hundred tiny bite marks.

I've gone cold turkey. Grown my nails out. I've tried to be more *aware* of what I'm doing. (That would mean that I pay attention to something for more than a nanosecond before becoming distracted by the lyrics of a Shinedown song.)(So.)(Yeah.)

I read some crazy Freudian theory once about "oral fixations" - and why people smoke. I have NO IDEA if it's real. I certainly don't smoke, what with the ASS-ma and all it's a veritable party killer. I chew my fingers like I might solve a math equation in Beautiful Mind if I tried really hard.

Once, in a fit of 20-something glory, I pierced my tongue. So there was THAT for oral fixations. It was a really bad idea. (Are you happy NOW Dad?) I mean, aside from sticking it out at drivers who'd pissed me off, it was pretty useless. I did like accessorizing the balls on the barbell, but it wasn't a sufficient perk to justify driving a huge needle through the middle of my freaking tongue.

(Oh, and to the stoics who say "it didn't hurt" - I actually yelled a LOT with a needle skewering my tongue, AT the piercer to tell him JUST HOW I FELT about that sentiment.)(If cracking your shin on a coffee table hurts, well, impaling your tongue is medieval torture.)

Then, one night, I did God-knows-what sort of oral acrobatics in my sleep and woke up to a tongue-u-lar injury of the second degree. Out came the tongue ring. I keep it in a box to show my children someday.

This is what identity crises LOOK like children, gather 'round....

Either way, oral fixation or Freud's a Fraud, I can't stop eating my fingers. I'm a weird self-cannibal. NOT COOL.

But at least it's winter. I can keep the gloves on for awhile since we've entered Russian Tundra Weather. Maybe it'll keep me from needing a transfusion...

I'd write more, but turns out I need a band-aid.

Comments, questions, are you self-destructive?

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