My nails

My nails are bit to the quick, like they used to be when I was a child.

The first time I actively stopped biting my nails was when I was 24 and living in Maine to finish out college.

I went to school, worked, walked and watched my nails grow.

I remember coming home for some event and seeing an old friend and she noticed immediately that my nails weren’t bitten down. “Oh, my god you have nails!”

We had know each other since we were 12 and 14.

My nail biting was certainly due to the stress of childhood. My father was a nail bitter as well. I think he stopped biting when he stopped smoking.

As I type this up now. My little hands look like they did when I was a child.

Tiny, and tender finger tips, nails bitten half way down. Shredded.

It has almost been a full month of no work, and still I do not feel rested or relaxed.

I am due to have an interview with an old boss this morning at 9:30, and then an interview with another company at 12:30.

It was hot out yesterday, almost into the 80s. Anything over 75 and I start to wilt, and my head feels foggy and my body heavy.

I managed in the late afternoon to rake up my garden patch area. Move the grow bags to a spot that will catch more full sun, but still have a bit of shade.

Got the lilac roots planted, picked up more garden and potting soil dirt at Home Depot on Wednesday…