Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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Because Fire Is Hot

I am in so much pain it's unbelievable. But let's start from the beginning.

On my way to school I saw a truck on fire. The small man was climbing on top of it with an even smaller fire extinguisher and was ready to conquer the fire. I had a lab exam that day, but instead of thinking about the answers I was worrying about the man. I hoped he came out fine out of the whole ordeal. Later, I found out that part of the highway was closed off and chemical waste department, and fire trucks were putting the fire out. The guy was fine. It makes me wonder though, what chemicals was he transporting that they caught fire just from ... whatever they caught fire from.

On the last page of the exam, we were to rate ourselves on scale of 0 to 5. I rated myself at 4.5. Then I handed the final to my professor's office. She looked at it and asked if I base my rating on my performance or if I'm just arrogant. I said both. She laughed and said she'll decide if she agrees with me considering that once I tried to set some chemicals on fire. I told her that this was last semester and should not be included in my grade for this semester. She laughed and agreed.

I checked the grade printout for chem, and out of 60 people only 5 are getting A's so far. I wouldn't mention it if I wasn't one of them. I'm number 2--some girl beat me by one point. My friend asked me for my gpa and I told her that if I don't mess up next week's finals, I'll get 4.0, and my cumulative will be 3.9. She called me a liar and said if I'm telling the truth I shouldn't tell anybody else because people will start to hate me. Apparently, the highest known GPA for a science major in this school is 3.2. Pfft, I guess I beat that person.

In metalsmithing, I was soldering three pieces of metal together. When I believed I accomplished the job, I grapped the supposedly connected red-hot glowing metal pieces with twizzers. They didn't connect, so the glowing pieces fell right on my hand. My hand now bears an imprint of the funky shapes of those metals. The inside of my left hand is covered wit hnasty blisters. They are far worse than the ones I got from putting out fire with my hand; and shit, they hurt way more. My hand is swollen and I'm in pain.

I realized I have a problem with fire. It's some compulsion for me to try to set things on fire. I never tried hurting people with it, but I did experiment if human flesh is flammable. It isn't. I wonder if my psychiatrist will talk to me knowing that I don't have insurance now. Hmmm.

12:51 a.m. - April 26, 2006

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