4 bad habits and a plane ride

(apologies for my suddenly pessimistic attitude, I have been reading Julie & Julie by Julie Powell lately and she is incredibly pessimistic towards herself, but in a funny and quirky way. Please note that this is how I mean this next hodgepodge of words that have been haphazardly strewn together. I hope you can make some sense of it all for surely I cannot)
I do not enjoy flying. I never have. Generally the flight is uneventful but every so often we have bad turbulence and my body just goes into panic mode. The funny thing is that my brain doesn't. I'm not nervous. I'm not anxious. Somehow my body does not realize this. My trip back to Toronto from Calgary today was not one of these flights. Thank goodness.
It was, however, a typical flying day for me. Every time I fly back to Toronto from Calgary, my flight leaves fairly early in the morning to make up for the 2 hour time difference on the other end. Makes sense. As a result, I look less than perfect on these flights. I basically roll out of bed, attempt half heartedly to cover up any horrible blemishes, pull a brush through my now slept on (therefore flat and greasy) hair and throw on whatever clothes I haven't packed. I am amazing. Once I get to the airport, I silently curse all of the women who look like they just spent hours at the salon. Perfect. (ok we all know I don't curse, not even under my breath or generally in my mind, so this is just a slight exaggeration, forgive me)
The plane ride was, as stated, uneventful. I watched some of the food network (a current addiction, and as I do not get it here in Toronto, I had to get one last viewing in), slept on and off and read a bit. All the while, my hair getting greasier and greasier. I felt great. Like a star.
As I sat there, feeling like I just may possibly be the most disgusting person on the planet, I caught a whiff of my new, too expensive but amazing, perfume and felt a little bit better about myself. But then I realized that I have 4 bad habits, brought up with me from childhood that I need to stop. They bring me down. They really, truly, are my downfall in life.
As someone who goes to (and gets rejected from) many auditions, I often think of what the auditioner looks for. I know it is more than just how I sound, but appearance as well (I'm proud to say that in my latest rejection letter, I was told that though I am a horrid singer, I looked fabulous. I may be paraphrasing). This is no New Years resolution. None of that junk. These are 4 struggles that I have been dealing with my entire life. Help me to stop. I beg you.
1. I pick my nails. Yes, you read that correctly. I do not chew my nails. I pick at them. The cuticles especially. I know. I am a monster. It gets bad. Really bad. Painful. I feel like my red and oozing fingers are just calling out to the world like a neon sign "help me! make her stop!". This is unacceptable as I am in a profession that requires me to use my hands. Not that a lot of people will notice but... I mean really... I doubt that Musetta picks at her nails. My finger nails themselves are generally in pretty good shape... but this causes a problem for number 2...
2. This is absolutely disgusting. If you didn't think I was a monster before, you will now. Anyone who knows me and spends time with me on a regular basis is probably used to the fact by now that I always have some sort of disgusting scabby red mark on my face... because I cannot help but pick at my pimples. Any or of bump on my face or person... if it is there, it must be gone. I cannot handle it. This goes hand in hand with the dreaded "c" word that I can't stand. Obviously this is a big no no. Often this is why I feel so hideous (we all know I'm kidding about all of this, yes? Good. Now that we're on the right page...)
3. While we are dealing with the face, a more minor problem is my lips (are my lips? They are plural... Carolyn, help me out here...) They are constantly dry. As a result, I am constantly chewing on them, which I KNOW makes them dryer. What is my problem? Am I just an awkwardly nervous person?
4. I cannot stop twirling my hair. I am constantly touching it. Playing with it. Running my hands through it. Which makes it prematurely greasy. And brittle. Which means I need more hair cuts than I should. Which also means that though I can start the day with a fantastic, full bodied head of hair, I end the day with a greasy limp mess.
It really is a fabulous life. As I was washing my hands in the bathroom and cursing the perfect model beside me under my breath (see disclaimer above) after the flight, I glanced in the mirror and thought ok. I guess I don't look that bad. It's always better than we think.
Night guys
Blessings
Deena