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I set my head on fire
Not just now. Several years ago. And the title is a bit misleading as I never set my whole head on fire, but then I just want attention.
I was in Jewelry & Design class, a cleverly disguised high school study hall where we got to play with fire. I don't remember what I was doing in that class - I think there was absolutely nothing else to fill that spot and Robin and Becky had already been dragged into it, along with the normal dregs you find in a study hall.
Anyway, that class was full of loveliness. When we used copper, the little shavings turned my palms green. And once we got to use the blowtorches, we all started singing ourselves. No, that doesn't look right. Singeing ourselves. Sinjing ourselves. I would know how to do that in Spanish. Anyway. We started setting ourselves on fire.
Accidently. We were not the masochists I am making us out to be.
So the problem with the blowtorches was that you turned on the gas and got the little striker thing to light it with. But the strikers were old and didn't strike like they used to, so you would have to try a lot. You would stand there with the gas flowing into a big cloud around your head while you held the blowtorch at arm's length and struck, struck, struck the striker. And after a while your arms would get tired and would come closer and closer and closer while the gas cloud was building and building and building and finally the gas would light. You wouldn't notice anything until someone started staring at your eyebrows or your bangs, you reached up, and little singed pieces of hair or eyebrow fell off.
I thought I had a lot to do today. Why am I posting about setting my head on fire?
srah - Tuesday, 9 April 2002 - 10:00 AM
Tags: stories
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