full of moxie and viscosity

I slipped today. I didn't mean to, gosh, I've been so good. But in being good my fingernails grew long, and those white tipped angels just spoke to me. I was typing away, defragmenting (thank you, whomever blogged me computer advice... it worked!) and reconfiguring my wireless card when suddenly, my hands were on my chest, my fingernails in my skin... it was easy. I had valleys of white, mountains of pink, rivers of red, deltas of all three. No blood, no broken skin, not this time, but enough to make me gasp, slap my own cheek, clutch myself with horror.

I feel bad, but then again, it's just me, I did it to myself, and nobody else was hurt in the process. I'll take care of it partially tomorrow and be careful not to slip up again. I refuse to cut my nails, though, because that is the truest sign of weakness. I have to trust myself. Trust trust trust.

And besides, who likes a girl with messed up boobs in the first place? I've spoken to this before, how literally, I judge so many girls (not guys) on the perfection level of their skin. If they have perfect skin, they are AUTOMATICALLY more attractive than I am. Literally. Especially boob skin. I think this is clearly another extended metaphor for the whole mutilation thing in the first place. I pick on myself because I'm self conscious, and the parts that I marr are the parts I so seek perfection in on other people. Such a vicious cycle, I swear it.