My Nails Have Improved...Now My Feet!

A quick post here! I am please to make note that my nails now look more feminine. But, one thing is holding me back. My nature of my genetic makeup, I have my mother's veiny hands. They look like peasant worker hands.

So, be it! I work with my hands. I have fashioned them short, now using a nail clipper instead of my incisors. I am pushing back my cuticles the ol' fashion way, in the shower with my thumb nail. No, painting. It's just too much of a commitment!

Now, on to my feet. The first thing I do after I get some kind of health care--please, make this happen soon-- and get to the gynecologist is go and get my bunions chopped off. Another genetic flaw. Some things are just out of our control.

Like how I feel right now, this moment. Feelings, you win me over and you fail me. Too many feelings, too little time. Maybe it ain't so bad after all to focus on manicures and pedicures.

Or what I find doing this morning, popping out my anti-depressants out of weekly sample packages that my new psych (more than half a year) gave me to last me through the month. Nice simple meditative work...with every push of the pill through the thin aluminum shield comes the hope for a better day.

Fear of Ugly Nails Continues to To Save My Life

I can only have faith at this point that the new medications will work. Going to the gym, realizing I don't have to smile at everyone who crosses my path, accepting where I am at with the longing to get better.

Deadlines are upon me. I feel I have no time to dawdle....and heck this isn't dawdling. The fact is in a sane country,  I would have not only health insurance but proper health insurance. I would be in the hospital, a stable environment and not be kicked out after 9 days.  I could count on Oxford to feast on my life savings,  up until last year when the rates became, so, high that I realized it was impossible to continue and maybe that preventative visits with internists, mammograms, gyno and the whole nine yards wasn't worth it. 

That said, I could have put two down payments on homes in the tri-state area.  I call it robbery. 

There is no wonder impoverished people die at earlier ages because they don't get the preventative tests and check ups that could prevent the acceleration of life threatening diseases.

On the lighter side and walking away from anger, a killer unto itself.

I painted my nails again today and dared to type on my keyboard while the first and second top coat were drying.  Years of biting, picking and holding a camera in my hands have made them downright unattractive. I have conformed to the feminine boring ideal of having nice nails....I am enticed with the site of women sitting on the Path train and NYC subway system with pretty nails, not too short, not too long.  Nails that don't crack or peel off at 2 mm's of length. 

Nice nails means most likely nice feet. Last summer two of my male friends told me my feet were ugly. I laughed. I figured if I had one ugly part on my body, I could accept feet that were turning into elephant skin. But, I soon enough realized that I truly envied these women on the trains with pretty nails, exposing painted nails in the summer, with no heels that looked like they were becoming thicker with layers of dead flesh year after year.

I'm sitting on the side lines, still dressed like I did in high school, while all these office women read their NY Times, current fiction, and the New Yorker. They wear thin stylish coats in the winter, pointed shoes with thin heels and carry two bags in each arm. 

What I really envy is there lifestyle that has the comfort of a daily routine, a structure that allows them to go to work and come home and call it a day. Maybe they do house chores, one day out of the week, and then on the other day they get out and do something relaxing or fun or Kultcheral.

So, I  know how those nails and my life is still a precarious juggling act. I reap the benefits of my obsession to photograph even when the money isn't there. I find the time to work on this blog.