As I was preparing to head out the door for work and worship this morning, I heard a frantic clatter from upstairs. When it didn't subside, I went outside to find smoke pouring from the front door of the house. A look inside revealed the house was choked with smoke from a chair on fire in the middle of the living room. I dashed for my fire extinguisher to finish putting it out (they had already used theirs up), then called the fire department after a quick conversation with the upstairs tenants. Their faces were red and eyes bloodshot; the fire must have been a terribly shocking way for them to wake up. They were also clearly concerned about the landlord finding out (I gathered they may have been warned before; the chair appeared to have caught fire from its proximity to the gas heat stove). Regardless, that was my next call—the owners need to be aware of this kind of thing, and I want no part of failing to keep them informed.
Truth is, I love this kind of stuff. It makes sense to me in a way that mundane life just doesn't so much of the time. Part of my conversation with Annette over dinner last night went there, fleshing out some of the more unusual parts of my background that I rarely share. There are aspects which may always make me a crisis junkie. It's one of the places I know myself best.
Started watching Project Greenlight this afternoon between shifts of work. I was in stitches. Gulager is a total train wreck, and quite a sympathetic one. I ♥ TiVo.