Day 1: My Nose.

My name is Abi, and I am a writer who doesn't write.
In an effort to remedy this, an arbitrary period of time that lends itself to a self-imposed writing challenge.
Lent: 40 days; 40 topics suggested by friends.

Day 1: My Nose.

I pierced my nose.

I paid a guy in a shop to shove some metal through my nose and then rang my mother to inform her, who promptly hung up on me.

After she had calmed down, and feeling had returned to the fingers of the friend who had been the catalyst to the stabbing (don't even try and deny it) the sense of accomplishment took over and I relished the feeling of having done something so completely and utterly for myself.

Looking back, I can still feel the rush; that rush of just doing something, this thing that I had been agonising over doing for so damn long. Looking back, I don't think I've done anything quite like it since, which I guess is equal parts sad, and also paving the way for things even more exciting.

However, my delay in bullet-biting adventures has not been through lack of trying.

I have always needed that push, that little reassurance that this thing is The Right Thing, but in this quest for absolute certainty I find myself forced in to this frustrating stalemate of inaction where the only person I have to rally against is, well, myself.

It's not just body modification that causes me to stutter; this internal doubt seems to bleed silently in to pretty much every decision, right down to the seemingly frivolous. It's hard work.

Of course, we're all a little unsure, a little uncertain (aren't we!?)

Guys?

All jokes aside, as was already patently obvious to everyone else, we all have to learn to be our own push.

I'm getting better, in increments, and that little push itself is better than no push at all.

I've acknowledged, but not accepted, the fact that for every reason why, I can often be relied upon to find 25 reasons why not, but on a good day?

On a good day, I get my nose pierced.