fresh paint versus the downfalls of humans

For at least six months in fourth grade I would paint my nails red every night before school. During class the next day I would meticulously chip away at each fingernail until there was nothing left except pink-looking residue in the outer-corners of my thumbs. My other fingers lacked the strength to eradicate the polish completely from the deep beds of my thumbs, and since I saved these non-fingers for last my mouth had had enough glossy finish for one day. I don't know why I hadn't just used the opposing thumb to do the job, but I eventually switched to clear polish. This took care of the residue problem, but now felt redundant because I could only slightly tell the difference between the fingers that I had successfully chipped away at and those that were left untouched. I can remember one day when Mrs. Leith, my fourth grade teacher who showed a peculiar interest in me, pulled me aside before recess and asked me if I was nervous for our math test scheduled later that day. At this stage in my life I was nervous about everything, including our conversation, so I sheepishly replied with a "yes, a little bit" while keeping eye-contact with the floor and picking at my thumbs with each index finger, my hands now resembling two sort of lobster claws or 'OK' signs at my sides. She told me that I was a smart girl and that I had nothing to be worried about and that I should relax. She might as well have told me that my habit was gross and that other kids in the classroom thought I was weird. At least that's how I interpreted it. After she dismissed me I went into the bathroom and cried for three minutes and sucked my unpolished thumb until recess was over. I ended up getting a 98 on the math test, which in hindsight would probably be the last outstanding grade that I would receive in the subject for - well - the rest of my recalled life.

It's weird to remember bits of yourself in the past and see them in yourself today - now that you are aware of your actions and, if you are like me, over analyze much of what you do. The reason why I am telling this story of nail polish and nervous habits is because last night - on the unofficial eve of a Spring day - I painted my nails clear. My nails are never painted: one because they are always stubby, another nervous habit of mine (biting them) and two because I think for the majority of my adolescent and adult life I've been subconsciously aware of my not-so-uncommon picking habit. By the time my Nursing Exam was finished this morning I had completely consumed my entire right hand's worth of fingernail polish, and put a dent in a few of my left hand's fingers. That's a mouthful. (hah sometimes I make myself laugh) I think I did well on my exam, and I didn't even have to go to the bathroom and cry like my eight year old self would have. Hooray for progression! And hooray that I am finally in a better mood about college, even though nothing has happened to trigger this and most likely by tomorrow or the next cloudy day I will feel like remarkable shit again. It is so easy for me to lose sight of who I am here, which is scary sometimes. I just need to remind myself to live in the present, stop worrying what people think about me, accept my faults, embrace beauty in myself and everything and everyone around me and just be.