The story of my life is written on my hands. My fingers are beginning to show the bumps and ridges of the arthritis that plagues my body. My joints are now too large to allow me to wear some of my rings. I have brown age spots. My skin is thinner and drier and more easily irritated. I have a scar across my thumb where I cut it with a machete years ago. Another on my little finger from a glass cut. Another, from a knife accident, on the edge of my palm. A hammer scar on the back of my left hand. But it is my fingernails that shout at me.
I had ten manicured, polished fingernails last month. Honest. Someone even complimented them. I've worked in flower beds, done housework, and typed all summer without breaking a nail. But the moment school starts each year, my fingernails have a nervous breakdown. The first day that I worked in my classroom I broke a nail. "Here we go..." I thought. And I was right. My nails have chipped and split and broken. I have a cuticle that is torn and sore. I'm down to three fingernails that even look like they might survive. I had to cut my thumbnail as short as I possibly could because it tore from the side. I don't know if it is stress or clumsiness or just the change in routine. I don't bite my nails. I don't make major changes in my diet when school starts. I just start losing my nails, and by next month I'll be ready to hide my hands behind my back. LOL
Well, I'm sure that was boring for most of you, but it's just one of those things that baffles me.
I'm ready for a new week. We had the accident on Saturday, our cat died on Sunday. Lots of friends and relatives on the "sick" list. Let's be careful today.
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