"a mass of glutinous coiling worms"

From the novel Solaris by Stanislaw Lem:

"Our white, naked bodies dissolve into a swarm of black creeping things, and I am - we are - a mass of glutinous coiling worms, endless, and in that infinity, no, I am infinite, and I howl soundlessly, begging for death and for an end." Page 188

Yep...pretty much describes me first thing in the morning. And mid-afternoon. And on Christmas Day.

[The passage describes part of a dream experienced by the novel's main character, Kris Kelvin, while he is in a space station orbiting the mysterious 'ocean' planet, Solaris.]

Don't try this at Home...or in a Laboratory

There are many obvious dangers associated with working in a laboratory. For example, in a microbiology lab there is the risk of being infected with a hideous disease, in a histology lab there is the risk of losing fingers while using a microtome, in a physics lab (say the Large Hadron Collider) there is the risk of creating a black hole, in a chemistry lab there is the risk of poisoning from horribly toxic chemicals. All good fun. But a particularly sinister - and hidden - danger, and one that is common to most laboratories, is the presence of a gas cylinder, and the potential for the gas cylinder to "torpedo" if the regulator (pressure gauge) is knocked off. [I'm using the term "gas" to mean a substance in its gaseous phase, eg a gas cylinder containing nitrogen].

The theory is that if the regulator (which covers the opening of the steel cylinder) is suddenly removed from a full gas cylinder - eg if the cylinder falls over and the regulator gets knocked off during the fall - the gas, which had been under pressure, will be expelled, with great force, away from the cylinder. Due to Newton's third law of motion*, the cylinder will also be "expelled" - away from the gas - with the same amount of force, resulting in an out-of-control airbourne steel cylinder, capable of destroying most, if not all, of a laboratory, and the scientists contained within.

As someone who has worked in chemical laboratories, and has been a little sceptical about the "gas cylinder torpedo" theory, I was pleased (and a little freaked) to discover that those crazy funsters from Mythbusters have tested - and confirmed (this is what freaked me) - this theory. [The video I've embedded is a cutdown to show the actual torpedo; I haven't seen the whole episode so I don't know if they tried anything other that complete shearing of the regulator on a full cylinder; for example I don't know if they tried just loosening the regulator and/or using a partially full cylinder.]




*Newton's Third Law of Motion : To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction; or, the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.

Am I Anally Retentive?

It’s a question that has plagued humanity since the beginning of time...okay, perhaps not quite that long…or maybe it is that long, I mean how do we know when time began, or indeed, if time has even yet begun…and what is “time” anyway? I say “time” is a four-letter word and should not be confused with “thyme”, which is, after all, a five-letter word…

…start again…

Am I Anally Retentive?

It’s a question that has plagued humanity for awhile. In terms of its importance, it sits right alongside the other biggies: Is there a God? Will I have children? Do I want fries with that? And it’s a question that has plagued me in recent times. Although, perhaps the word “plagued” is a little strong. It’s not like I’ve been lying awake at night pondering the existence or non-existence of anal retentiveness in my being. I haven’t lost my appetite with the overwhelming heaviness of such a metaphysical dilemma. I haven’t retreated into isolation in order to meditate on the possibility of a metaphorical non-evacuation. No. Maybe “it has crossed my mind” would be more apt. Still, this doesn’t diminish it's potential impact. Deciding whether or not one exhibits the characteristics of an “excessively orderly and fussy” person (as “anally retentive” is defined by The Australian Concise Oxford Dictionary) is life changing. And, if I am such a person, I need to decide if I’m going to try to reform my fussy ways or if I’m just going to give in and embrace my retention.

So, what behaviour have I been exhibiting to cause me to believe I may be AR. It's mainly been an accumulation of little things; doing my laundry at the same time every week, washing the dishes only on Sundays and Wednesdays, ensuring the bottom sheet is completely smooth before I get into bed, only eating chocolate on days of the week ending in 'Y'. But there was "an incident", something that I think may have pushed me from being a little fussy over into the chasm of AR. It was the Rubbish Bins. Or, more correctly, new people moving into my block of flats who not only put their rubbish into my bins (and filled them to the brim, so there was no room for my rubbish), but put stuff into my recycle bin that doesn't go in the recycle bin. IT MAKES ME CRAZY. Well, I don't take that kind of thing passively, no, not at all. I put my foot down (note to self: when putting one's foot down, make sure there are no rocks nearbye). No more. I damn well took my bins from against the front fence (where all the bins are usually kept) and moved them to a spot just to the left of my bedroom window. Pretty darn clever. Sure, the other tenants could still potentially put their rubbish into my bins, but the odds of this happening have now been significantly reduced. Anyone who has been to my flat will know what I mean, and anyone else is welcome to drop by and have a look at my new rubbish bin arrangement - it's pretty impressive.

But was the moving of the rubbish bins the final link in a chain that will now shackle me to the un-bendy steel of fussiness? Will this be the snowflake that causes an avalanche of excessive orderliness? I guess only time will tell. But there is one thing of which I am sure; moving my rubbish bins to their new location has brought me great satisfaction.

Reserved

A lack of words doesn't necessarily indicate a lack of thinking. There are thoughts, occasionally. They filter sporadically through the mist, but they are mostly amorphous and incomplete. Coherent revelation has yet to make an appearance.