Appalachia Year

The Grown-Up Files, part I.

(Look at me, all too-big-for-my-britches with a masthead up there.)

To confront the notion that candid personal blogging is all about a compulsion to share with the world just how cute and interesting I think I am, I am going to publicly discuss a disgusting, unattractive (and decidedly uninteresting) habit of mine: nail-biting/finger-nibbling.

I didn't used to do this. When I was younger and I would regard my mom's and brother's bleeding cuticles with scorn. (Hey, maybe it's genetics! Not a lack of discipline!)

Every year, this is the New Year's resolution that I make with no intention of keeping; cut this shit out. When I catch a reflection of myself in a mirrored surface doing this I am struck by how, well, dumb it makes me look. When I see other people indulging in this act in public I find it a little revolting.

I've tried, sort of, to stop before. When I paint my nails, I furiously pick at the nailpolish. Chewing gum habitually inflames my chronic jaw pain. And it's hard for me to imagine wearing gloves when I'm not outside (some websites suggest this).

So, out there for the world to judge, my dried-out, gnawed-on fingers at the beginning of their journey towards (healthy, undamaged, presentable) greatness.

'Cause what's a blog for, if it's not forcing you to be personally accountable.