It’s the start of a new year and far from BBQ season, and yet I still think of sausages sizzling. My fingers swell and remind me of the childhood song sausage in a pan,
‘sizzle, sizzle, sizzle sizzle, sausage in a pan.’
They feel fit to burst, the pressure a constant symptom. I watch them swelling and fattening and feel they will split apart at any moment, burst open like a bursting sausage on the BBQ. The heat grows, intensifies, movement becomes rigid, they lay out in front of me like alien digits, useless red skin straining against the inflammation, ugly deformed, making my hands feel huge and incongruous to the rest of my body, as though they were sewn on by Frankenstein.
They dangle at my side, I feel the blood rushing down, pumping and filling them as though they are an empty marigold, cleaning glove, growing solid and stiff. In my pocket I hold them up to soften this feeling, the claw is on its way, beware the claw, no activity for the hands today, yet how is that possible? My hands move instinctively to the myriad tasks that are implicitly needed.
Once or twice a year I treat myself to a nail treatment, I have acrylic nails fitted, my nails will never grow to any pretty length, this is something I learned from my teenager, nice nails. the process is an endurance, it hurts, the technician will man handle me, no matter how hard I try to hold or bend my old crone fat sticks, they pull and sigh and seethe politely, annoyed at my inability to manipulate my fingers to their bidding.
This suffering is worth it when the next day I see my hands around me and feel for once that they actually belong to me, the long nails ease out my perspective and I can look at them without seeing the pain. I have never yet, returned to a nail bar to have them removed, rather I cling to them until the point they either fall off or grow out. Vanity, I know but just a small attempt at normalcy that warms my soul.
As I am no longer working, in the traditional sense, yes, parenting and caring count as work I know, I simply cannot justify this beauty treatment expense, each birthday a kind Aunt sends me a monetary gift and I use this for nails as an annual treat, they last well into the xmas season and bring vain cheer to me. Other times I admit it, I blow money to feel good.
Mostly I decorate my own real nails as often as I can, in an effort to recreate this, force myself to make that effort so that I can save myself from the hideousness I feel when I look at my hands. In making an effort I am valuing myself and taking time and care for myself, so it’s an important little ritual to me.
Meanwhile my fingers seem to bubble and hiss as my skin stretches and knuckles inflame, but I will not be defeated, I will have control of these extraneous bangers.
(I found this in drafts and finally edited it, hence the New year reference, honest if not speedy.)
Chris xx
Living With ME 