A loyal reader asked me about my first true fact, as posted yesterday. She said, "May I ask why you pick your fingers? Is it a habit?" Yes, you may ask. And no, I can only wish it was a habit. Because a habit would be something that, with time, I could break, right? And so far, as often as I give the practice up, I return to it. (Right now, one thumb has a Hello Kitty band-aid on it. The other thumb is dangerously close to sporting one as well.)
As much as I'd like to give time and attention to this post and discuss, in detail, where my finger-picking comes from, I don't have the time. Why not? Because I had to fiddle with the second of our cars to be in the shop. I won't belabor the point, but things didn't go as planned when my car didn't start. Sure, the plan was to take it to get checked, but I had planned on driving there. Not having to call a tow truck. And as life would have it, the tow truck plan didn't pan out as planned, either, and I did end up driving my car to the dealer and catching a ride back. (Go figure. I would have thought about hitching a ride back but I couldn't because my thumb, or at least the one I would use to hold up, was covered in a band-aid. Argh!)
Anyway, I'm no psychologist or therapist, but I think the finger-picking behavior runs much deeper than a simple habit, possibly stemming from some form of anxiety that manifests itself in finger-picking. I've also been known to pick at a scab incessantly and at the cradle cap on the kids' heads. Furthermore, I took all the hair off of a small patch of scalp (the size of a pencil eraser) by picking at it after that particular patch bothered me. (Don't look at me like I'm deranged. I'm admitting these secrets to you because, well, why not?) I'll admit that the scalp instance had me worried, I won't lie, but I looked into it and decided that it was not trichotillomania. And then, I went on my way.
So there you have it, friend (who will, from now on, be Loyal Reader from the North, or LRN, because she really is from the North and I don't want to step on FRN's toes). I'm sure you're confused and didn't want all of this explanation, but I gave it to you anyway.
Happy Monday!
As much as I'd like to give time and attention to this post and discuss, in detail, where my finger-picking comes from, I don't have the time. Why not? Because I had to fiddle with the second of our cars to be in the shop. I won't belabor the point, but things didn't go as planned when my car didn't start. Sure, the plan was to take it to get checked, but I had planned on driving there. Not having to call a tow truck. And as life would have it, the tow truck plan didn't pan out as planned, either, and I did end up driving my car to the dealer and catching a ride back. (Go figure. I would have thought about hitching a ride back but I couldn't because my thumb, or at least the one I would use to hold up, was covered in a band-aid. Argh!)
Anyway, I'm no psychologist or therapist, but I think the finger-picking behavior runs much deeper than a simple habit, possibly stemming from some form of anxiety that manifests itself in finger-picking. I've also been known to pick at a scab incessantly and at the cradle cap on the kids' heads. Furthermore, I took all the hair off of a small patch of scalp (the size of a pencil eraser) by picking at it after that particular patch bothered me. (Don't look at me like I'm deranged. I'm admitting these secrets to you because, well, why not?) I'll admit that the scalp instance had me worried, I won't lie, but I looked into it and decided that it was not trichotillomania. And then, I went on my way.
So there you have it, friend (who will, from now on, be Loyal Reader from the North, or LRN, because she really is from the North and I don't want to step on FRN's toes). I'm sure you're confused and didn't want all of this explanation, but I gave it to you anyway.
Happy Monday!
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