Brother from another mother

It would seem that despite how convenient the rhyme works out, it's much more common to have a brother from another father than a brother from another mother.

Cuticle anorexia

It's one thing to do it in private. One time I was at a chamber of commerce meeting, covering the gathering as a reporter for the local newspaper. A guy named Gary Joyce was giving a speech; Gary was a friend and always exuded a lot of enthusiasm and respect toward our paper and myself. Somehow Gary got to talking about the paper, and I was so engulfed in my attempt to rip what little white skin I could away from the cuticle of my thumb that I was completely oblivious of the fact that he was talking about me. The entire room took a moment to glance over at me and briefly observe how interested I seemed to be in this disgusting ritual. All of a sudden I received a wave of that ESP like sensation we all seem to get when a group has turned its attention to you, and I looked up at Gary and said "Sorry. I was in a trance."

He replied kindly, as he always was. "It's okay John, I know I'm boring. Just don't fall asleep on me."

The implication there, of course, that whatever bizarre self-mutilation was engaged in at that moment was about as productive as if I was asleep. It's the human equivalent of when your dog takes an old shoe or toy or rawhide and goes in a corner and just zones out for hours, chewing and chewing away. Only that's not actually bad for the dog, as far as I know. The dog's not bleeding from several places when it's done. Hell, after a two-hour Sunday night session with the tiny scissors I've got at least four fingers bloody, sometimes six.

When I say "tiny scissors," I'm referring to those little scissors you receive in those "kits" that are designed for this very ritual. Apparently I'm not the first person to have this disgusting masochistic addiction, for these "kits," these collections of instruments of self-mutilation, are very much in existence. Alas, wherever there is vice there will always be some opportunistic swine profiting from it. It's as certain as the vice is tempting.

The company profiting from my addiction at the moment is an aptly named outfit called "Trim." I say at the moment because I've gone through several of these kits, losing every piece, piece by piece, over the last 15 or so years. The tools are often lost in bedding and couch cushions and all the other places a drunk might find his flask when he is finally roused the next afternoon, still in the same clothes from the night before. I often pass out during my Trim sessions in the same manner a stoner passes out in front of the television after gouging himself on potato chips.

I often compare this cuticle mutilating addiction to an addiction to alcohol or drugs and the like, but it's really not a fair comparison as those are substances. An x-girlfriend once told me I was like a "cutter," a person who cuts him or herself, which is a little closer, but I don't think that's quite right either. I think cutters cut themselves to escape numbness, while deep down I think every cuticle masochist started down that path because they thought it was making their fingers look better. That was the case with me, and I'm sure it's the same with many people. So in that regard, it's more like anorexia or bulimia. You're putting yourself through pain because you think it's making you look how you're supposed to look, when really it's only making you look worse. Or maybe it's like those girls who pluck their eyebrows out and go too far and end up plucking them all out. "Eyebrow anorexia," I've heard it called. Maybe we should call my sickness cuticle anorexia.

Like masturbating, or picking your nose, I find this subject so embarrassing it's difficult to write about. But I'd like to think at least I'm thinking while I'm doing it. The multitask culture tells us to value everything you do by dividing its amount of accomplishment by the amount of time you spent performing said task, and when I spend hours picking at my fingernails and cuticles, the only other thing I could be accomplishing is a little cathartic thinking.