DB: Unconscious Habits

I can’t stop biting my nails. And I don’t mean over the outcome of my tax return. I mean literally, I’m addicted to the consumption (or at best mastication) of the calcium deposits that find their way ever growing from the tips of my fingers. I want to stop, really I do. Its unhygienic and childish all in the same nervous gesture. The problem is, 28 years later, I don’t even realize I’m doing it until its too late. Then I’ve got this unsightly white half-inch crescent to get rid of … like the booger you are too polite to flick.

Sometimes I wonder at Tacoma’s unconscious habits. The insidiously unhealthy behavior from which we would love to gain freedom, but time and time again we find ourselves back in our car filled with Costco products that could have been purchased locally. Or perhaps we are perched languishly in front of the television instead of out enjoying fresh broccoli and bocci in the rain with Derek and Whitney. I’m not trying to give a sermon about anyone in particular, fill you all with guilt and self loathing in order to create community or some such … no, I just wonder why I’m endlessly jabbing this little hand-grown splinter into the spaces between my teeth.

I used to hide them in the couch cushions when I was a kid. Somehow unconsciously aware of the shame of it, I tried for a long time to chew them up into tiny swallowable pieces. This, as you may be aware, is bad for your teeth. It wears through the layer of enamel that keeps chompers fresh, and puts whatever it is that found its way under your nails (while you were petting the cat or putting the weights away at the Y) into intimate contact with the interior of your mouth and eventually tummy.

Why do I get straight into the car when I leave my front doorstep? I’m just going to the coffee shop … it’s two blocks from here. Why do I run red lights after 11 pm? Well, because no one is around for miles and the damn things take 20 minutes to change. Why do I insist on purchasing limitless flats of little plastic water bottles instead of springing for a faucet filter that makes my tap potable? How come only every other can makes it into the recycle bin? It’s really only six steps from the garbage. Must I really dump my expelled motor oil into the street drain? Ok, I’ve never done that but sometimes thats what it feels like to be a nail biter. It’s just unsightly, and bad for my health and image and everything.

Despite these obvious negatives, somehow biting my nails helps me to think. An oral fixation perhaps, drawing back to post womb peaceful moments of fullness and comfort … whatever the case, I can usually substitute a tea-tree toothpick if I can remember to get one out of my pocket. Even now however, as I draw my hands back from the keys to think of the next line of dialog, they move instantly into gnawing range. Even if I can keep myself from chewing them, I usually get a good pry or two out of each finger. What the heck is wrong with me?

I guess I want my urban life to be a little more conscious. I feel like I get into auto pilot and forget what I’m really after living here. I mean, if I wanted to live in isolation and have everything neatly packaged at one place that is only accessible by automobile, I could move to much more comfortable surroundings. A place not befuddled by a milieu of friendly faces who would like to say hello and get in between me and my video rental. I would invite them home to watch it with me, but I’m afraid they will go digging through my couch cushions … gross.

ps. there is a martigras themed kulture lab at my place on saturday night starting at around 7. art entertainment. beverages. etc. 1114 Court E