Why do I even think these things?

So, I get home tonight and pull out my hotwire to carve up a bunch of tombstones...and get high from the styro-fumes in a small enclosed area. And I'm busy plying my different hotwire and hotpokeystick things and I actually think to myself:

Gee, I can't believe that, waving these incredibly hot, burning tools around, so cavalierly like I am wont to do, that I've never burned myself. Unlike the multitude of hot glue scars I bear, or the dremel fingertip shaving accident, or that time I stapled my....

Yeah, you got it, my hotwire-hurt virginity, gone in a flash!

Thankfully just a little singed armhair and a tiny burn -- I've got those killer pull back from danger reactions that have served me so well in the barns full of hooves/teeth/horns and kitchens full of flames/knives/#10 cans of peaches. Hot glue though, well, there's no moving away from it,is there really?)

After forty four years, you'd think my head would know to run screaming from thoughts like that...but no, I gotta pick and pick and pick at it, until I've made it happen.

Now, if only I could get myself to focus on World Peace....