Friday, March 10, 2006

Have I ever mentioned...

Just how much I hate the smell of burning human flesh?

This is especially true when it's my own.

I bring this up because I have a lovely 2" long second degree burn on my left palm, because the pot holder I was using to move the 550 degree cast iron skillet (I was re-seasoning it after sanding it down smoothe) slipped. Thankfully I was able to recover the skillet before it took out something flammable, like my boxers for example; but the end of the handle lovingly burned itself into my tender... okay somewhat rough and calloused... flesh.

Most kinds of pian I have no problem shutting out; unfortunately burn pain isn't one of them; and of course it's on my palm, jsut about the worst possible place. Burn pain is different from other kinds of pain, in that every nerve in the area repeatedly signals it's displeasure with you, and your piror actions, unlike other pain which generally waits for some external stimulus to bitch at you (like moving your knee when you really shouldn't). Being on the pal of course this particular burn will have the additional pleasure of repeated rouch contact; thus ensuring said nerve cells the fullest opportunity to gripe.

The blistering was fun, and quite puffy, and there's a full skin layer there that I'm going to have to cut off in a few days. Then the REAL pain beings as I manage to successfully jab, poke, and otherwise mangle the irritated flesh in every way possible for the next six weeks or so until the scar forms.

Can you tell I have some experience in these matters? My hands and forearms are covered with these little reminders that I am a moron at least once a day; and often around things that can hurt or kill me.

Actually so is the rest of my body from one thing or another. I've had stitches thriteen times on my left hand alone. You should see the rest of my scars; oy.