For years, I have tried to find others who would understand a time in my life when I was fascinated by the idea of spontaneous combustion. About ten years ago, I saw an article in the Onion that I thought was absolutely hilarious. As I showed it to friends, they didn't think it was as great as I did. "8yr. Old Boy Knows Everything about Squirrels," it read (or close to it). Get it, I'd say, get it? While working on a degree in Psychology at Penn State, I thought of a perfect thesis. It would explore why so many kids in my "Gifted" classes were a little different, a little odd, a little obsessed. This was back in 1992. And, I hadn't heard of Asperger's. I could never figure out why teachers would always tell us to brain storm... to turn things over in our minds OVER and OVER and OVER. Especially when the majority of us were already thinking about things (we were interested in) WAY more then what the average person would consider normal or healthy. It is like asking a gentle, summer breeze to work itself up into a hurricane.
The other day while trying to relax, knitting while watching the Science channel, I tripped over a program about "dark" science. The theme of the episode was spontaneous combustion. Although my interest was peaked, my reply was, "Tell me something I don't already know." I watched it and learned nothing new. It is amazing how little had changed over the past thirty years.
I can't remember exactly how old I was, maybe about 8yrs old like the Squirrel Boy. At that time, I had received a book about various phenomena. It included stories about mysterious footprints on rooftops, rainstorms of frogs falling from the sky, moving photographs of ghostly women, and a whole section on spontaneous combustion. I became entranced. I suddenly needed to find out everything I could about it. Those were the days before PCs in libraries and internet search engines. So, I spent many hours in the library digging through books, magazine articles, and microfiche. I found photographs like of man charred beyond recognition, except for the bit of tattered bathrobe and bedroom slippers filled with what appeared to be hamburger. I found scientific studies about pig carcasses wrapped tightly in blankets and then set on fire. But, more importantly, I formulated my own theory. It took a bit of geology, a bit of Roman Catholicism, and a bit of Looney Tunes. I ultimately figured spontaneous combustion had to be the work of the Devil. I just couldn't believe a being of his power and cunning would settle for sitting in a red hot throne while his minions poked people with pitch forks. Simple chemical reactions didn't cut it. And, it couldn't always be a misplaced cigarette butt. In an almost cartoonish way, I could see Satan himself lifting a fingertip to the outer most crust of the Earth's surface (because hell had to be in a solid center of the Earth's core surrounded by molten rock). He would then randomly set people ablaze like matchsticks for kicks.
I could deal with this theory for a while. It made sense but it was pretty innocuous. But, it still made its way to the forefront of my thoughts OFTEN. Sometimes, I would stop my mother while we were performing mundane tasks, like shopping at the Mall. I'd come to a halt and ask her, "What if I spontaneously combust RIGHT NOW!?!?!" She initially seemed a little disturbed. But, eventually, she would just ignore me. Every time I asked her, I would picture her covered in hot, steaming fleshy bits. Everything, in spite of my obsessive thoughts of flaming flesh, seemed to be moving along nicely in my world-- until the day my mother asked me to do the unthinkable. Go down to the basement and change the laundry from the washer to the dryer. We lived in an older flat with a dark, unwelcoming, Lovercraftian basement. I could handle the shadows and the dank, damp air. What I could not handle was the thought of how much my mother must have disliked me to send me to a certain death. Because, if Hell is in the center of the Earth like many Christians would have had me believe... and it is Satan who is causing humans to go off like fireworks... and the basement is the closest part of the house to the center of the Earth!?!?! I wouldn't return from my task smelling unpleasantly like fabric softener (see previous entry). I wouldn't return AT ALL! I would get so wound up that I couldn't even begin to explain myself. And, what did come out sounded like gibberish to my mother, I am sure. An act of manslaughter, I'd think. In her mind, I was once again being uncooperative, difficult, defiant, overly dramatic, and even lazy. Once again, she'd note that her daughter was incapable of completing even the most simple chore.
As time passed, I though I had outgrown it. An idea lost under the bed like an old sock. Until years later, a boyfriend of mine who worked for a local printer compiled a half dozen pages into a chapbook about spontaneous combustion for me. I suddenly felt like it was a mistake to confide in him. Because didn't he know? The more you think about something the closer it gets to you! Suddenly, the ground seemed warmer under my feet.
I am now able to think of things without thinking I am forming thoughts into matter. I have moved beyond that mode of thinking-- kinda.
