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I bite my fingernails. That's probably not a good thing.

I bite my nails. I've been chewing on them for years. As long as you don't chew through flesh it's all right.

I bite the hell out of my fingernails. I can't stop. I should stop. It would be nice to grow my fingernails out. It would be healthier. I could pick up dimes.

I still bite my nails.

I always try to have a fun nail. It's something whimsical that you can pull off anytime.

I suppose if you've never bitten your nails, there isn't any way to explain the habit. It's not enjoyable, really, but there is a certain satisfaction - pride in a job well done.

I just tend to do things to myself that I don't realize I'm doing. Sometimes I bite my lip so that it splits and hurts, and yet I can't stop. And sometimes I'd play shows on the last run, I'd scratch my neck while I was singing, and I'd horrified to see these red streaks of blood after.

When I was younger, I was always obsessed with nails.

I pay attention to my nails. I have had this particular German nail kit for years, and I take it everywhere. If I don't trim and file my nails, they turn into talons. I cook a lot, too, and I don't like to see bits of food stuck under them.