I always lie and say I can’t think of an earliest memory, because the memory itself is the worst: I was teeny tiny, sitting in Grandmama’s chair in the living room, and she was clipping mine and Bri’s toenails because “it was time” and they were getting too long.

Apparently this is a problem.

I mean, I get it. Like body hair, I can’t tolerate when my nails get too long. But I do find the nail-clipping process miserable, so I’d rather put it off for as long as possible.

When I was a kid, I realised I was flexible enough to bite my toenails. Gross, I know. My logic: biting my nails removes the need to clip them, so…can I bite my toenails, too?

So, yeah, I did it.

Unfortunately, I grew older and less flexible without purposeful stretching. Also, I got in trouble doing it because it was gross — surprisingly not because it could, Idunno, be harmful in the future. But for what it was worth, I did it after bathing, and it’s not like I was eating those nails. So…was it any more disgusting than grown-ass adults eating their boogers because they supposedly help the immune system?

Anyway, this is all relevant because it’s what I’m doing right now — only instead, I realised I wanted to blog more about autism and thought I should hop on this subject whilst the feelz are “lit” (am I using it right yet?). ‘Cause otherwise I’ll forget, and that’d be bad for the mood of the post…and for my procrastination. ??

So. The feeling is comparable to that of listening to scream-o music when the most you can stand is Sixx:AM and Evanescence, both of which are probz not even in the scream-o music category — or like touching the tiniest bit of sandpaper. I don’t file my nails. I have before, if only to rid them of icky-feeling nail malfunctions that decided to happen on their own, but otherwise? Let’s just say I’ve never been one of those chicas sitting with a nail file and filing her nails whilst she conversed with her friends. And I never will be.

I’d rather look at image after image of eyes (?) or have to watch a sexually explicit scene with a family member.

But ah. If I don’t, my toes hurt — more specifically: the toenail hurts, as it’s somehow this living thing.

I used to need shoes an entire half-size larger than my actual shoe size because I’d put off clipping them so long.

It’s worse than brushing my teeth, but not as horrible as that time I — without knowing, because why would I ever do it on purpose — stepped on a worm. Or maybe it was some other slimy being. Who cares, really?

(This only killed twenty minutes. FML. ????)