Pick, pick, pick. 

I'm not good at waiting.  In fact, I'm rather impatient.

Anyone who knows me at all can easily tell when I'm stressed out by the number of hangnails I have.  Right now, both of my thumbs have angry red hangnails where I've picked the skin until it bled.

I used to smoke cigarettes when I was anxious.  Now that it's not an option, I pick.  

Sometimes, it's so bad that my husband will nudge me with his elbow or knee and give me "the look".  You know the one:  "Katrina...cut it out.  Your picking is driving me crazy."

My response?  "You knew I was crazy when you married me, big boy."