Never give up on your dreams

I did not know what I would find when I sent my finger to dig deep into my left nostril. A slight tickle, nothing more than an intuition really, had told me that I might find something worth discovering there. I hummed and hawed about it for a while, twitching my nose from without trying to soothe the persisting discomfort. Some time passed in this way, achieving only superficial relief. Finally, I had enough, so without further delay I dispatched my left index finger to the offending nostril and delicately and patiently set to feeling for clues, looking for something which might explain my vague feelings of dis-ease. At first everything appeared normal, the familiar concave chamber appeared to house little more than than the soft prickle of hair; from time to time, a particle of solidified mucous might be felt, and carefully without any sudden movements, I would withdraw my finger so to examine the specimen. Nothing worth writing home about, tiny facsimiles of the real thing.

Yet my inquiries did not satisfy me, my dis-ease persisted, something primal and uncertain inducing me again and again to return to the scene. As often happens on journeys of this kind, I had lost hope, had given up on the possibility of uncovering the cause of my irritation. But something in me would not relent, my heart cried out, "Do not give in!" I resolved once and for all to press my investigations to their conclusion, I was determined to get to the bottom of my nostril. At its fetid opening, my finger hesitated for moment, perhaps it was frightened, unsure of itself as it was called on to carry out this task of selfless sacrifice. The nostril gaped open luridly, provocatively, as though daring the finger to get lost inside its cavernous labyrinths. With blazing courage the finger plunged into the depths, deeper - deeper still. No destination but the center of my brain, the pineal gland itself, would satisfy that brave probe, that pioneer of remote cranial reaches.

But what was this!? At the threshold of the upper nasal cavities something blocked its path. A giant booger, a deformed monster guarding its vile lair. Alarmed, indeed scared out of its wits, the finger hesitated, could feel the monster's salty breath against its sensitive pad. But a voice called out in the darkness, it was my own, "Fear not brave finger! Tear out that invader! Uproot that usurper and blocker of nasal passageways!" Summoning all its strength, the finger tip attacked the monster from all sides, would not relent in its war against the invading foreigner. It was a long and arduous battle, the details of which will not be made known here, suffice to say that the casualties were great on both sides. At length the monster lost its strength and like Goliath fell at the feet of the stalwart David. Silently, exhaustedly, the finger slowly returned from the fight, pulling back patiently, with the repulsive creature's corpse shackled to its tip.

Returning to light, after so long in the pitch blackness of conflict and destruction, was hard on the poor finger, indeed it collapsed as soon as it reached the nostril's outskirts. My right hand sympathetically raced to its aid, clasping my left wrist tightly, lifting it high in the air, like a hero in a movie. At the tip of the battle-weary finger, the nasty booger rested peacefully in its eternal slumber; it would tickle no nostril ever again. I made my way to the balcony, leaned over the railing, and in one final burst of effort my finger sent its foe down to its resting place, far below. It fell fast, with the gravity of the dead, and landed with an audible thud against the ground which received it. I looked at my brave finger, grateful tears swelling in my eyes, brought it to my lips and kissed its tip. "You have relieved me of my discomfort, dear finger. Now rest and be comforted. I will look to your example and remember that all is not lost, nay, all is indeed possible!"