My right fingernail is at a pretty fragile point, so I dug out some very old clear nail polish and painted on a few coats. I figured it would be a good idea to document what it looks like before doing so.
It has been at least six months since the last 'blow-up', which mainly affected my index and middle finger. The middle finger was a bit rough as it grew out, but not much. But that index finger has blown up so many times over the last seven years and looks worse each time the nail grows out. It looks perfectly fine DURING the swelling. But as the nail grows out, I eventually see the edge of the warping. And now that the worst part is nearing the end of my finger, it's quite brittle, fibrous, and thin from normal everyday wear. Lighter than everyday wear actually. I try to be gentle with it.
It's fascinating to me. Whatever happens in my fingers during the swelling periods destroys the ability to grow out a healthy nail. It's like a chemical reaction that wrecks the natural process. But as was determined by my doctor and a battery of blood tests, it isn't systemic. My left hand has never had a single problem. None of the nails have ever shown any weird discoloration or warping of any kind. Smooth and strong as always. And the rest of the nails on my right hand look great right now. In fact, if the center point of the 'blown-up' irritation is on the underside or farther down my fingers, it doesn't cause the nail warping, or only very little. It's a very focused thing. Totally localized.
That last episode on my index finger was right on top of that first knuckle and I remember thinking, "My fingernail is going to be fucked."
Indeed.
One of the times it happened in the same spot, the nail grew out with a pit in it, which chipped a lot. I was less careful about it and when I tried to pull away one of the loose shreds... it kept coming and I practically split my fingernail in half. It was like a horror movie. And painful. Very painful. It wouldn't be so bad if it grew out all dead and fell off. Lost a lot of toenails like that when I was still on pointe. But that wasn't painful. They just fell off like dead hair from the abuse. But this nail is still very much attached to living tissue in my finger, despite all the warping. Anyway, not going to risk anything like that this time. I think I'll keep it lacquered with nail polish until it all grows out.
Still haven't left the house more than to do chores around the yard and to hang out with the birds. But it's becoming a realistic consideration now, which is a vast improvement on just a few months ago. Back to a healthy weight for me. Exercising more. No panic attacks or migraines, though I continue to feel vulnerable in that regard.
Read
Divergent. Another Young Adult novel along the same lines as
Hunger Games. Not as good though. The protagonist was less passive than Katniss, but the overall story felt pretty shallow. Too much convenient romance. Little substance. Not going to bother with the rest of the series.
Then read
Neuromancer, which I've always meant to get to. Got to the end and went right back to the start. Reading through again. The language is a minefield. It's like Shakespeare. You have to read a lot of it until it feels
right to your brain. Really interesting. More-so with our technological hindsight.
The people descriptions are some of my favorite parts:
"Julius Deane was one hundred and thirty-five years old, his metabolism assiduously warped by a weekly fortune in serums and hormones... Sexless and inhumanly patient, his primary gratification seemed to lie in his devotion to esoteric forms of tailor-worship. Case had never seen him wear the same suit twice, although his wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of meticulous reconstruction of garments of the previous century. He affected prescription lenses, framed in spidery gold, ground from thin slabs of pink synthetic quartz and beveled like the mirrors in a Victorian dollhouse."
Delightful to the imagination.
Sora has been especially friendly over the last week. It's nice to pop outside, make a little clicking call and she shows up in one of her usual spots. The fence. The gutter overhead. Or the jutting wisteria branch. She's comfortable enough with me that she'll trot around while I water plants, digging for bugs or grabbing peanuts when I put them out. The little hopping gallop is endlessly amusing to me. Birds are cool.
