A long time ago, when I used to work at the Vermont Teddy Bear Factory (we're saving that story for novel-form), I became somewhat infamous for a period of about two weeks. Not because I was particularly awesome or because I did something particularly revolutionary (aside from being the only person that could make boxes faster than the box-making machine). No, I was infamous for being the girl who constantly had her finger jammed so far up her nose that it looked like she might be touching her brain; I was the girl with the Everlasting Booger.
The Everlasting Booger was a legacy all its own; something entirely magical in its existence and wonderful in its ability to entertain me throughout a long day of dressing teddy bears in Christmas suits. There was a mystery behind this booger that amazed me, and kept me going for it day after day of unreciprocated interaction. It was placed so perfectly within the grooves of my nose that it was just barely unreachable with a finger, and no tool, no matter how high-tech or extreme, could remove this booger from my nose. I learned to love its presence there, despite odd looks at my willingness to display my disgusting habit in public, picking away all day, as if its was a conquest of sorts; a daily challenge. I would sit there across from Chris, my one-week-stand of legendary proportions, and pick away as he smiled and laughed at me every time I went in for another unsuccessful try.
Finally, one night around Christmas, my fingers breached the exterior of the Everlasting Booger, just enough to make it stick, and out it came, into the cold world outside my nostril. I called Chris immediately and marveled in its sheer tinyness, sitting there on the tip of my finger and no bigger than the spec of dust it was. I had defeated it, and I reveled in its challenge put forth to me, sticking it to my wall and feeling accomplished.
It was goodbye to the Everlasting Booger for what felt like years. I thought nothing of it and continued picking my nose regularly in public, but grow weary and bored with the lack of quantity after I'd picked them all. There was no one booger in my nose that was always there, taunting me to pick it, and although I remained the normal nose-picker I am, I couldn't help but think back on the Everlasting Booger and miss it slightly. That was until the day I felt that fateful twitch in the back of my nose. Instinctively, I raised my index finger to my nostril and prepared to dive, wedging my finger inside my nose and shifting it around suspiciously for the culprit, skimming the sides and moving further back and further back into oblivion. There, with the tip of my finger, I just skimmed the side of the booger that sat comfortably in the deepest grooves of the back of my nose. The Everlasting Booger had returned.
Days went by with my mission ensuing, excited at my returning conquest and eager to win this epic battle once again. Days turned into weeks once again, and the booger was still not mine. It seemed as if this booger was slightly more snide and spiteful than the previous tenant of those grooves, and mocked me more at my failed attempts to breach its sticky exterior. As if tired by my dissatisfactory attempts, the booger decided to get hardcore and multiply, stating war on my finger and I. Suddenly my nose became a forest of boogers that came by the thousands, and it seemed that no matter how many casualties I took, more and more just kept coming and coming from the North, South, East, and West, invading my nose like a bloody battleground. No matter how many times I picked, the Everlasting Booger just kept making more and more and more boogers to fight back.
I could feel these armies of boogers jabbing their sharp edges into the flesh of my nostril, poking me in unpleasant places and laughing as I squirmed in pain. They would latch onto the walls of my nose as I tried to pull them out, giggling like little gremlins as they pinched and stretched its inner workings as I pulled them out to meet their dooms. No matter how many times I tried, I was beat by the Everlasting Booger and its minion of booger bullies, wreaking havoc inside my right nostril, practically drowning me in thick, rock-like boogers every ten minutes that I went without reciprocating attack. Now I find myself not knowing how to defeat the cruel and unkind of the Everlasting Booger Brothers, ridiculed by its nastiness and merciless rage against my hygiene. I find myself questioning whether or not it's time to see a doctor about the war taking place inside my nose, all because of a stubborn little booger that didn't want to get picked.
I was encouraged to write this short story about the Everlasting Booger by Damian, considering I hadn't had much to write about lately and a seemingly big occurrence in my life was the constant booger keg party happening inside my nostril. I didn't know if I was going to write it, until tonight when I was faced with an assignment for my Graphic Design History class that required me to make a poster for any event in either the Art Nouveau, Art Deco, Arts and Crafts, or Ukiyo-e period style. I really didn't like the style of any of those movements, and found them overly complicated and difficult for me, considering my fear of drawing, especially with such detail. So, immature little me decided to go ahead and mock them, choosing the Ukiyo-e period as my target.
I didn't realize until after I had already finished it, that its message was a subliminal reflection of my own life, and that I had spent the last hours of my time perfecting the details of this monstrous booger almost subconsciously. I looked at it and realized in shock that this little mucus monster had occupied my mind almost as much as it occupied my nose, and that it was time to tell you the legendary story of the Everlasting Booger.
(It's supposed to be for an event, so I just decided to make it for my dream show; an old school Drowninman at 242 Main, like the old days of shows when there were no scenesters.)