Two Pictures

Picture this:

A young woman alone in a cafe, sipping a foam topped latte and
reading a thick hardback. Her leather jacket is slung carelessly
across the seat opposite her, and her thick chestnut hair is pulled
back into a low ponytail, but a silky lock or two keep falling into
her eyes as she reads.

A pretty little tableau.

Ok -- same girl, continue the picture:

She goes to push the wayward strands from her face and knocks her own glasses off, catching them midair. Then she sinks back into the pose she'd just abandoned, realizing that she'd been absentmindedly twirling her eyebrow hairs between her thumb and forefinger -- in public-- and now looks
like a cross between Groucho Marx and the Wicked Witch of the West.
She plunks her chin onto one hand, and nicks herself with a ragged
fingernail, causing far more bloodiness than you would imagine
possible, which somehow also causes her nose to start running. She
doesn't have a tissue. All this goes on without her even raising her
head from her book. It's completely routine and expected and doesn't
cause even a momentary break in her concentration.

Join with me in a moment of silent awe that this poor creature makes
it through each day.