Day 93

I am, and forever will be, an unrepentant picker of scabs. I just can't help it. It always starts out with me staring at a scab. This lasts for perhaps ten to thirty seconds. The staring makes the scab feel extra itchy, if only because I become more aware of its presence on my body. After some staring, the feeling of itchiness becomes unbearable, and the compulsion to pick is overpowering. The act of scab picking provides far more satisfaction than mosquito bite scratching for the simple reason that picking has the payoff of clawing out bits of one's own flesh and scratching does not. Instead, scratching turns into a feedback loop that only induces more itchiness. Once the flakes of scab have been picked off, I always enjoy seeing the blood bead and coagulate, the water tension holding the droplets of blood together in little spheres. I usually end up wiping away the little blood droplets, and for some reason I always make a point of smelling the pennies smell that blood makes before I wash it off of my hands.