Thumbnail Sketch
Proving again that there is no limit to the degree of self-absorbed navel-gazing I am willing to engage in, I write today of my thumbnails.
Quite frankly, I have the ugliest pair I’ve ever seen. They are ridged and wrinkled, cracked and peeling, gray-green-brownish, especially down the middle where the deformity is most apparent.
One of my students asked me if I had cut myself down the center of my thumb with a band saw; and while I have never suffered that misfortune, her conjecture was perfectly reasonable given the sorry state of my nails and cuticles.
The right one is slightly more atrocious than the left; its wrinkled depression runs deeply down the nail’s center sort of like an eroded riverbed. The sinister twin is more crushed and splayed out but appears to have a bit more life in it. Both, however, look like something slammed in a car door not too long ago, although in truth, it’s been over forty years since that happened to me last.
They started getting this way during my thirties; when I lived in Santa Fe and it was really dry, my thumbnails began to wrinkle a bit, but then, when we moved to Paris and later, LA, they seemed to get better.
In Minneapolis, during the winters, my left thumbnail started to wrinkle; I tried painting it with some peppery stuff you put on baby’s thumbs to keep them from thumbsucking; all this did was flavor my nail-biting.
Since moving to Seattle and, I think, getting caustic bike-cleaning and lubricating chemicals on them more frequently, the deformity has really accelerated.
I go back and forth between being fascinated by this condition and disgusted by it. A couple months ago, when I was stoned, I came to believe that the spirits of my dead parents inhabit my nails, Mom on the left, Dad on the right. That hasn’t improved their looks, but at least I’m heartwarmed looking at them.
203/327
Quite frankly, I have the ugliest pair I’ve ever seen. They are ridged and wrinkled, cracked and peeling, gray-green-brownish, especially down the middle where the deformity is most apparent.
One of my students asked me if I had cut myself down the center of my thumb with a band saw; and while I have never suffered that misfortune, her conjecture was perfectly reasonable given the sorry state of my nails and cuticles.
The right one is slightly more atrocious than the left; its wrinkled depression runs deeply down the nail’s center sort of like an eroded riverbed. The sinister twin is more crushed and splayed out but appears to have a bit more life in it. Both, however, look like something slammed in a car door not too long ago, although in truth, it’s been over forty years since that happened to me last.
They started getting this way during my thirties; when I lived in Santa Fe and it was really dry, my thumbnails began to wrinkle a bit, but then, when we moved to Paris and later, LA, they seemed to get better.
In Minneapolis, during the winters, my left thumbnail started to wrinkle; I tried painting it with some peppery stuff you put on baby’s thumbs to keep them from thumbsucking; all this did was flavor my nail-biting.
Since moving to Seattle and, I think, getting caustic bike-cleaning and lubricating chemicals on them more frequently, the deformity has really accelerated.
I go back and forth between being fascinated by this condition and disgusted by it. A couple months ago, when I was stoned, I came to believe that the spirits of my dead parents inhabit my nails, Mom on the left, Dad on the right. That hasn’t improved their looks, but at least I’m heartwarmed looking at them.
203/327
posted by Professor Dave at 5:21 PM
1 Comments:
Uncanny! We suffer from the same, exact disorder. (Your description is quite good.) I think it has to do with some kind of yeast-like organism known as Candida. Such a pretty name for an ugly-little-bastard organism. It'd be easier if were just in one thumb nail, then the "I closed some door on my nail might work". But on both?!
Post a Comment
<< Home