Hi, Ed. Sorry it's taken me a few days to respond. Been preparing for finals.
Or, pretending to, at least.
Let's see-- you asked me why i have long nails...
To be honest, for a long time, i had no conscious logical explanation for them.
I never intended to grow them out long at all. In fact, i was a habitual
nail-biter for so many years as a child and young teenager. My nails were
usually shorter than the cuticle-line, and looked very jagged and well, bitten.
I also used to nibble on the little pieces of skin around my cuticles. When
that skin was weathered down and there was no more of it to bite without
bleeding myself, i'd go for the skin around my segment-divisions...Needless to
say, for a few years, my hands were disgusting creatures to look at. My mother
was always horrified.
Then, during the summer between my eighth and ninth grade schoolyears, a lot of
stuff was beginning to...happen...that turned out quite traumatic for me. At
the end of the summer, i looked down at my hands and suddenly realized that i
hadn't bitten my nails for quite a while. I suppose i'd forgotten to. Which
seems odd, because most people bite their nails when they're nervous. I
suppose, more often than not, i bit my nails when i was simply bored. Since i
didn't have a chance to be "bored" for a few months, my nail-biting habit just
silently dissipated. And i found that i was actually starting to grow real
nails. Pretty nails with strong bases. They were still short, mind you, or
"normal-lengthed".
Because i had never had to trim my fingernails with scissors before, it suddenly
felt unnatural to. So i didn't. And i wondered to myself, "Hmm...I wonder how
long they can actually grow if i just leave them alone...not bite them, not cut
them..."
So the experiment ensued. While i forgot about it. More "stuff" happened in my
life. And then i remember that when i went back to school in January, suddenly
a few people in each of my classes were asking to see my nails. And a few of
them gasped a little. The nails weren't all that long then. Most of them were
probably about a half inch to three-quarters of an inch long. But anyway, it
wasn't until then that i realized that i actually had slightly unusually long
fingernails. And i liked them. It wasn't just the attention. I loved them the
most when i was alone, fondling their arches and underbellies with the soft
cushions of my fingertips. I loved how curved and smooth they felt. I loved
the odd ways they grew. All twisty and treebranchlike. I guess i felt that a
part of me had....cultivated them. Each and every one. People often asked why
i didn't cut them all off when one broke, or why they were all different sizes.
I told them i considered each one an individual, and kind of like a child to
me. If one of your children suddenly dies a tragic death, does that justify you
murdering all of its siblings?
(Not always. ;-D)
So anyway...Generations of nails sprouted and broke, and at first, every "death"
upset me, because they do take about a year or so to grow between an inch and an
inch and a half. And they always broke in stupid ways. I tend to gesture all
over the place with my hands while i'm conveying anecdotes. Sometimes i'd flick
my hand against a wall or fan or other treasonous or questionable surface a
little too hard, and one of my precious babies would bend and develop a little
crack in its side, which would later expand and slice most or all of the
nailbody off. (No matter how many of those Sally Hansen Nail-Repair Kits i
tried.)
But they always grew back. Each one at its own pace, in its own repeated
pattern. I'm quite patient with them, i suppose. Probably because they've
always returned. Like Frosty the Snowman. Incidentally, i haven't seen snow in
so many years...
And over those years, i've questioned their significance in my life many times.
There's no question over how i feel about them; I'm in love with them. I have
been right from the start. But why am i in love with them? Sure, i do love
novelties, and interesting "oddities" of many kinds, and the nails sure do
qualify...But moreso, i think they've grown into (or perhaps always were, at
least subconsciously) a symbol-- a symbol integral to my life, mental
well-being, and breathing space...
People have always told me that most of my ideas, the things i want to do and
be, are impossible...that i'll "never make a living doing that", or that i can't
[insert activity here] because "nobody else does it". And i hated those
responses. I raged against them in the little ways that i could, while still
maintaining my inherent shyness and introversion. In retrospect, i think my
nails did so appeal to me because they represented...no, confirmed to my
insecurity-based doubtful self that nothing is really impossible. Everything
i've ever dreamed or wanted to be...the ideals that i want to live by...the
things i desire to do, or create, or share, or express...All of those are
attainable. In some form or other. Regardless of what others try to make me
believe.
...My nails gradually grew into my own little garden of Possibilities, Hope,
Beauty, and physical realization of that beauty...In a time when everything in
my life seemed to wilt, or lacerate little tips of my heart, psyche, and
invisible wings, constantly slashing for more, this little garden harvested on
my hands just kept growing...longer and stronger and more obstinate. And even
though every plant on it died every once in a while, another one always sprouted
right back up in its place. Just as beautiful as the one before it.
And i think, right now, especially, i really need to hold onto that state of
mind.
Palms and Follicles,
Marble Milkwood
