I hate cutting my nails. Whether it’s my fingernails or toenails, nails are uncomfortable and mostly outrageous to deal with. I have nothing against people who do appreciate their nails, the people who style them and beautify them, but to me personally, that’s never been something within the male gender norm and as a result I haven’t felt too passionately about them. Again, that’s not to say those who do appreciate them are in the wrong though.
My nails are a product of my genetics, and they grow back quickly regardless of whatever I do on them. When I cut them, I do so knowing that within two weeks they’ll be fully grown again and back their talon-like size. It’s frustrating to have to deal with, but in the end, it’s just part of my life at this point. I like the act of clipping nails, the satisfying sound that the clipper makes as it sinks its metallic body through the nail, but it doesn’t make up for the annoying and obnoxious rest of the process. It’s just a satisfying part of it that helps to lessen the wound.
I don’t often talk about the small things, the tiny bits of life that slip under the surface and don’t go talked about often. I’d like to do this more often, but I worry that I will run out of space or I won’t have enough words to fit the 300 word quota. In cases like those, I just need to get meta and talk about blogging at the end, in order to fulfill the 300 words and do away with any doubt about it all. That’s the trick. So much has come up recently that I could be talking about instead, but I sometimes feel more comfortable spending time like this.