Painting and repainting. That’s what I’ve been doing. Painting my nails, wiping them clean and painting them again. One by one. Coat by glossy coat. Blue, pink, orange, gold and crimson red lacquer. There are plenty of days when I do more than just painting and repainting…but not today. Today it’s just me, some nail polish and a bottle of acetone. Painting and repainting.
There’s something therapeutic about nail polish. Painting takes concentration, patience, a steady hand and a steady mind — stuff I’ve struggled with recently. But it’s said that practice makes perfect, so I just keep painting and repainting.
It doesn’t matter the color or brand of polish. It doesn’t matter if it’s chipped, dented or entirely smudged. Each nail will inevitably be wiped clean again. All that matters is painting. I just keep hoping I’ll find that lucky hue. I just keep hoping that maybe a fresh coat will cure my writer’s block — or better yet, cure my dad’s cancer. So I just keep painting and repainting.