The lips! The lips!

If I have to explain the reference you don't really need to know.

Today's pointless photo is not of my lips. Good thing too, because they're a mess... or at least my bottom one is. My own, fault, sadly.

One of my absolute most annoying nervous habits (to me, anyway. I probably have more annoying ones to other people, but I really don't want to hear about it right now) is chewing on my lower lip. I'm a pretty heavy user of lip balm because of it -- I'm almost always chapped -- and I don't care how long a company says its lipstick will last, it doesn't have a chance with me.

All of this wouldn't be so bad, but lately I've been cracking. What a pain. A literal pain, yes, especially when eating anything having to do with lemon juice or things like that, but also a pain as in frustrating. When you go to bed with a cracked lip you have a good chance of waking up with blood smeared on your pillow, for example. As pleasant as it sounds. Also, when you're a person who has trouble leaving her lip alone in the first place, you know what happens when a crack starts to heal? You tend to tease the edges of the scab. Without realising it. And then the edges get ragged and hangy, and the next thing you know you're pulling at them without thinking about it and the next thing after that...

Is gross.

Right now part of my lip looks suspiciously like I've taken to using sandpaper-flavoured Blistex.

Yeah. I already said gross.

Ah well, what can you do but wait for the mess to heal so that you can start the process all over again? And again and again.

Ah well.  Again.



I probably won't be posting tomorrow, but stay tuned for the exciting upcoming week where I will be babysitting -- and probably complaining about -- my father's cats. Oh, and his house, too. And his fish, I guess.

Ain't we got fun, boys and girls?