Playing with Fire

My grandmother once warned me, if I should ever take one puff of a cigarette I will be addicted forever. And so I never have. And I never will. Smoking repels me. I truly hate it. 

And yet. There are other addictions she never told me about. Addictions I willingly seek, and cannot resist. Playing with fire, and getting burnt. Burning the flesh that has already been scarred.

Just like that first puff of a cigarette. It is the first line that is crossed. That has the power to draw and hook you in. Into a tangled, messy, uncomfortable, powerless web.

And at the end, all that is left, is the burnt ash of a once beautiful flesh. 

On Fire

Today I’m on fire. I’ve had a slow cooker cooking today, and this evening I put one of the hot plates on by mistake. Not realizing the cord of the slow cooker was on the plate. My laptop power tripped and when I looked towards the kitchen, I saw red flames. My reaction was a bit delayed. I stood looking at the fire thinking to myself, there’s a fire. In slow motion. Now what? Okay, calm. Fire. Calm. Put. Out. Fire.

I grabbed a tea towel and fortunately the fire was small enough for me to put out with a tea towel.

My reaction was very similar to a time when my daughter aged three, nearly drowned. She was submerged, and I was two swimming lanes away from her. My mind went into slow motion. Daughter. Underwater. Drowning. Save daughter. I waded across calmly and yanked her out. Just in time.

Dinner is nearly ready?