The Effects of Setting One's Head on Fire

Disclaimer: there are a couple semi-graphic descriptions in this post. Stop reading here if that sounds bad to you.

Have you ever wondered what it's like to run around like those stuntmen in the movies with your head in flames? I know I have. Ever since I first saw something like that on the TV screen, I've secretly wondered how it feels. Recently, I was granted the rare and unexpected opportunity to find out.

It was the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced. It was the only time in my life that I thought I might be about to die.

I didn't realize my head was on fire until I drew a deep breath. The gas which entered my lungs contained none of its customary oxygen, and my panic set in. When covering my face with my hands proved futile to extinguish the blaze, my panic turned to desperation and my heart beat faster (they told me in the ambulance that my blood pressure was 180 over 110).

That's when it happened - that terrifying moment of "OH SH--... WHAT HAVE I DONE??" There wasn't any time for my life to flash before my eyes, or for me to have any enlightening philosophical epiphanies. I didn't sense anything supernatural. I didn't see a light at the end of a tunnel. In that eternal half-second of terror, my thoughts only got as far as "this could be it."

Then, rather than getting pensive about the afterlife, my instincts kicked in and I did the sensible thing: I pulled my shirt off.

The next 10 minutes are a bit blurry - the first thing I remember seeing is the terrified face of my co-worker Preston, on the phone with 911. I ran to the bathroom to rinse my face with water (which I recommend if this ever happens to you - apparently it cuts recovery time in half), killed the equipment power, and started spraying water on the fire that was still going.

When the paramedics showed up, I felt the most profound sense of relief. It was so wonderful to lie down on that bed and just let someone take care of me. I knew I was still breathing, and that seemed like a good sign, and I was sure the fluids they were pumping into my veins would feel ok. So I just relaxed, really for the first time in weeks. They told me I was going to Nashville and I said "hell yeah! I love Nashville!"

What followed was a blissful 6 weeks recovering with my family in Colorado. And the conclusion I came to was this: maybe those 5 seconds with head on fire were almost worth it after all.

just kidding. ;)

Time for the weekend

Now it's that magical moment - I've got all the equipment shut down for the weekend, with only one pump still humming in the background, waiting for the kill switch. All the doors are shut and locked except for the one I'll use to leave. Things are peaceful here for the first time all wee

Wait... I'm wasting this moment blogging??? peace, I'm out.

To hold all things together

While I was an undergrad at Georgia Tech, I remember thinking, "I sure would love to live in Tennessee." The little time I'd spent among the green hills of the Volunteer State had called my name. I didn't think it would ever happen. It was my intention to leave the South as soon as I graduated because the world seemed too big to spend so much time in one place (apologies for calling Georgia and Tennessee "one place" - you Georgians and Tennesseans must excuse my gross ignorance). Yet, partly by happenstance and partly by choice, here I am in Tennessee. Tragically, though I love the place deeply, I can't wait to leave.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to work for a start-up company that does something really cool. I would read about companies like Changing World Technologies (in Missouri, they use thermal depolymerization to turn turkey offal into fuel) or SpaceX (the founder of PayPal founded a company to build a manned space vehicle to replace the Space Shuttle), and I would think, "If I could just get in touch with one of some of these guys, I'd offer to sweep their floors - anything just to get in the door." Be careful what you wish for - there have been days here at SunsOil (a small company in rural East Tennessee making Biodiesel from various low-cost feedstocks - my NDA prevents me from publishing specifics) when I have yearned to do something as sanitary as sweeping the floor.

This past summer, I recall telling a friend that I was kinda looking forward to winter, specifically the cozy aspects of it. But lately there have been nights when I've been bundled to the gills, putting on putting on layer after layer, as many hats as would fit on my head, undershirts wrapped around my face - anything to keep the cold out; all I could think of was how sweet summer will be.

So the question I pose is this: How do I reconcile these things? How can I take the bitterness of the winter cold and hold it together with the joy of a fireside? Is one the evil dark side of the other, or do the two complement each other, imbuing one another with meaning and context?

Could it be that the warmth of the springtime sun is sweeter in the knowledge that it follows the winter snows? Could I live each moment rejoicing that I am working my dream job, all the while holding that knowledge alongside the hope of whatever adventures I'll find myself in next?

This is my goal: To hold all things together - the winter with the summer; holding in my mind the beauty and ugliness of each - allowing the two to commingle in my mind and bring forth one another's unique magnificence.

What are the stars thinking?

Tonight was a hard night at work. It was very cold out, and as luck (or whatever) would have it, it also happened to be the first night in a long time that I've had to spend a significant amount of time outside. I'm talking like 15 degrees. That's -10 to you non-Americans.

Most of the night was one hassle after another. Easily the most aggravating night in weeks. And with the cold, my hands hurt so bad I could hardly form clear thoughts, much less verbalize them to others.

But there was one moment when I was outside, and I happened to look up and saw that the sky was crystal clear, and there were stars and an almost-full moon shining brightly. My first thought was something that's buoyed be before through stressful stuff: "The stars are up there, and they don't care about my problems. Thus, my problems don't seem important enough for me to worry about them." But tonight, I thought "or, maybe the stars DO care, and they're cheering me on." I like it.