25 January 2002

Putting my laptop in my briefcase this morning, I broke off my thumbnail below the quick. Owww.... And naturally, it's the thumb I hit the spacebar with, in that very spot. My spacebar may be bloody by the end of the day.

I think that leaves me with exactly one finger where the nail doesn't look like I stuck it in a running garbage disposal. I've always had terrible nails - soft and flexible; as soon as they get long enough that if I tilt my hand I can't see the tip of my finger, they bend and then tear off. (Not break, mind you - the trick with my thumbnail this morning was a fluke. They tear, like a piece of paper.)

I've tried everything. Calcium supplements, gelatin, nail-strengthening hand lotion, nail-strengthening nail polish, daily clipping and filing... Separately and in combination. Each of these has worked - but only a little.

(Except the nail polish. Nail polish on me chips within hours of application. I don't know why.)

At any rate, I've come to the conclusion that if I want to have nice fingernails, I'm going to have to do it all - the supplements plus about fifteen to twenty minutes a day devoted to lotion and clipping and polish.

I have better things to do with fifteen minutes a day. (And gelatin gets old pretty quick anyway.) Especially since I spend pretty much all my waking time typing - which means I don't dare let my fingernails grow longer than the tips of my fingers anyway.

So, nasty nails it is.

The chipped-off thumbnail isn't so bad. At least it looks like an accident.

A miracle happened this morning.

Most mornings, this is what happens: I'm asleep, dreaming away, and the dream comes to an end. I wake up a little - just enough to lever myself up on one elbow and check the clock. Usually, this happens around five or five-thirty.

If the cat hasn't already come in to wake me up, my movement alerts him to the possibility (however unlikely) that I might get up and feed him, and he comes in to do his routine.

I ignore the cat's routine at my peril - he's patient for about twenty minutes, and then gets irritable and pees on something. (Peculiarly, he doesn't get irritable if I get up and lock him in the garage or the bathroom. He just wants me up.)

At any rate, depending on circumstances - like how tired I am - I either get up and deal with the cat, or ignore him, or on rare occasions elbow Matt and demand that he do something about the cat. And then I either go back to sleep, or I lay there dozing and jumping at every little noise until the alarm goes off.

This morning, when I looked at the clock, it was a little past four. It took my sleep-fogged brain a few minutes to process that - I had another whole hour and change to sleep. When I finally figured it out, I couldn't decide whether to be happy that I'd have another hour and a half to sleep, or irritable that the cat would be making me get out of bed at such an unholy hour.

But the cat did nothing of the sort. He jumped up on the bed and I petted him listlessly. I expected him to move over to my nightstand and step on my clock a few times, which is always good for getting me up.

He did nothing of the sort. He went down to the foot of the bed, curled up, and fell asleep.

When the alarm went off at six, he was still there - though as soon as I turned over to hit the snooze button, he got up and came over to me, beginning his usual routine. Food now, okay Mom? Mom? You have to get up now, the kitchen is this way...

I confess I dressed carefully this morning - but no, it seems he really did the unexpected and allow me to sleep right up to the alarm.

Now, if I could just get him to do this more often...

--Liz