Scabbed

I come from a family of 'pickers.' We see, we pick. No, I'm not saying our fingers are constantly up our noses (although based on some past experiences with nieces and nephews, I can't say it didn't start somewhere...), but if there is a scab, we are drawn like a moth to the flame. So when I knocked my head quite aggressively on a kitchen cupboard (or at least that's what I think I did... I can't quite remember), and gave myself a nice, oozy gash, it was inevitable that a battle would ensue. Because when something oozes, it typically scabs. And when something scabs, I pick that something to the point that my body ceases attempting to heal itself and leaves me with a gnarly scar. My hands and shins are proof of this.

So we come to my own damn scab, sitting atop my head and begging me to dig my nails underneath and scrape it off. Ahhh... wouldn't that just be dreamy... I've already picked it off several times, and somehow it comes back bigger and badder than before. Which makes my picking urges fiercer and more ferocious than before. But I've decided to try and let the scab have it's way with my head, finding that I am no longer 5 and should have some degree of will-power. Unfortunately, all this had done has left me with wandering hands. My hand is continually stroking and caressing the injury, wishing upon wishing that I could pick it off. Sometimes I panic when I can't immediately locate the scab with my probing fingers, and I hurriedly comb my head with my hands, giddy and also afraid that the scab has moved on to other things. It can't be gone. Not yet. Not before I really was able to unleash my full picking powers! Alas, the scab remains where I last left it. Perched high on the crown of my head, hidden carefully beneath strands of bleached-but-not-as-bleached-as-I-want-it-to-be hair. I wish I could at least see it. The best I can do is have Josh look at it and describe exactly what it looks like, what color it is most like, how big it is, what shape it is, etc. He doesn't quite like doing this, being that he finds it fairly disgusting and disturbing how much interest I have in the scab, but whatev. It's my scab and I'll do what I want with it.