don't think i haven't tried excavating the suckers. i sit at stoplights, too, you know. i'm alone in bathroom stalls. i've done curious self-exams, probing the inside of my nose until my knuckle prevents further digging. until i believe i am about get pieces of my frontal lobe caught in my nail.
i've used my sharpest fingernail to get a feel for the pesky topography. for instance, to get to the most solid blockage, your finger would need to go north, then veer slightly to my east. i'm finding crust glued to the lining in my nose, and chiseling away at it gives me flecks of sharp scab, which i immediately empty onto second street. in an amazing show of regeneration, these jagged stalagtites return within hours. in the meantime, the discarded ones -- i'm assuming -- have made for pleasant, nonslip suburu driving for my fellow duluthians. you're welcome.
occasionally i'll knock something lose with a hearty trumpet-like nose blow. and for about 14 seconds the pure air singes my raw nose hair. it hurts. it hurts. it's like snorting dry ice and i can feel it in my brain.
sleeping is decent. chuck coincidentally purchased a humidifyer the morning after my worst instance of snort-sleeping. i must have sounded like i was gargling with chunky beef stew. he didn't complain about it, more like just made mention. now we sleep in the equivilent of a rain forest, which has done noticeable things for my peeling feet and cuticles. but within an hour of leaving the bedroom, i'm back to some serious mouth breathing.
i spend a lot of time thinking about squirting 7-up up or out of my nose; putting a dust buster hose up my nose; snorting vix vapor rub; finding a weak toddler and stealing its little blue bulb syringes and putting it up my nose.
in the meantime, the cartiledge is painful to the touch. bumping the tip of my nose feels like i'm stabbing myself with shards of porcelin. then one day i got a little tiny premenstral zit on the outside of my nose, separated only by a thin layer of skin from where it hurts inside. it was all the agony of an infected nose piercing, without the decorative stud.
so. i guess what i'm saying is: smell you later.