Just Call Me Monk

Some people handle stress by over cleaning their homes, others smoke and others exercise obsessively to get through the hard times. Me? I pick at the eye lashes of my upper right eye lid. I sort of mash them into my lid in a most pleasingly painful manner. It hurts in the same therapeutic way that a good eyebrow wax does. Don't get me wrong I am not into whips and leashes, although a playful spank can go a long way towards a good time. But as I mush my lashes over and over throughout the day, they slowly break off and it feels really good -in a sick sort of way. After a few days of this I end up with a fairly bald spot on the right corner of my eye lid. This week has been rather stressful in my small world. I have thought of upping my Prozac intake, but the thought of an even larger psychological band aid does not sit well with me. So rather than stuff Devon into his snow suit and go for a healthy, refreshing walk, I pick, pick pick at my lid.

Tomorrow I have to go work on the ski mountain. Venturing outside of my front door means I have to wear make-up and look presentable. But there is no hiding my bald lid. This afternoon I toyed with the idea of purchasing some fake eyelashes but I am no J. Lo or Paris Hilton, I don't even know how to stick those things on my eye. At this point nothing short of a huge pair of sunglasses will hide my gross little habit. Shit, just the thought of it is making me want to scratch at my lashes.