My current project involves addressing a corrosion problem on an awful lot of steel.
After we blast off the paint where rust has eaten through, we then sand the metal to get as much rust as possible off it before we prime and paint again. Very straightforward concept. Rust is metal-cancer.
At one point, I am working with a disc-sander* about six inches wide, feathering an edge on the underside of a railing, so that there is a smooth transition from the height of the paint we left on there to the bare metal - hopefully this means that it will STAY smooth when we repaint, so weather and corrosion-gremlins won't find a good spot to get their teeth locked in. 'cause that's really how corrosion happens.
*Pneumatically-powered, spins a disc of hard sandpaper very fast. Throws tiny shards of glowing-hot metal and oil-based paint dust at my face and hair, which is why I wear my hard hat and a full-masked respirator.
When I'm focused on a task like this, I really only have the ability to think about four things at once, not the usual seven or eight. So, I'm focused on my footing on the scaffolding. I'm focused on holding myself half-upside-down over this railing, maintaining the necessary angle to reach this stuff. I'm focused on making sure my safety gear stays with me and doesn't fall eight stories (which wouldn't be bad, just mean that I'd have to stop what I'm doing and clamber out of the scaffolding and trot down 8 stories to retrieve it), and most of all I'm very focused on that delicate little slope I'm carefully spreading through four layers of paint.
I'm not at all focused on the OTHER side of the sander disc. The one away from the railing. Or my wrist's proximity to it.
And then suddenly, my attention is seized, and the other three are all forgotten, as I move my wrist just a hair too close to the spinning disc, and open up a slash in my forearm to fill with paint dust and tiny shards of metal.
Hrm.
This is different.
But, going off to wash it out (helpfully, the nearest running water is only twelve stories down and a quarter-mile away), it's actually only about a quarter-second's worth of damage. Considering everything that runs through one's forearm/wrist there, this could have been a terribly exciting day - really, this just stings a lot.
So today, I'm very, very thankful for pain, because the surprise of unexpected pain caused me to release the hold I had on the sander, and as a result it didn't go any deeper. This will hopefully heal up in a week or two.
There's so much to be thankful for.
After we blast off the paint where rust has eaten through, we then sand the metal to get as much rust as possible off it before we prime and paint again. Very straightforward concept. Rust is metal-cancer.
At one point, I am working with a disc-sander* about six inches wide, feathering an edge on the underside of a railing, so that there is a smooth transition from the height of the paint we left on there to the bare metal - hopefully this means that it will STAY smooth when we repaint, so weather and corrosion-gremlins won't find a good spot to get their teeth locked in. 'cause that's really how corrosion happens.
*Pneumatically-powered, spins a disc of hard sandpaper very fast. Throws tiny shards of glowing-hot metal and oil-based paint dust at my face and hair, which is why I wear my hard hat and a full-masked respirator.
When I'm focused on a task like this, I really only have the ability to think about four things at once, not the usual seven or eight. So, I'm focused on my footing on the scaffolding. I'm focused on holding myself half-upside-down over this railing, maintaining the necessary angle to reach this stuff. I'm focused on making sure my safety gear stays with me and doesn't fall eight stories (which wouldn't be bad, just mean that I'd have to stop what I'm doing and clamber out of the scaffolding and trot down 8 stories to retrieve it), and most of all I'm very focused on that delicate little slope I'm carefully spreading through four layers of paint.
I'm not at all focused on the OTHER side of the sander disc. The one away from the railing. Or my wrist's proximity to it.
And then suddenly, my attention is seized, and the other three are all forgotten, as I move my wrist just a hair too close to the spinning disc, and open up a slash in my forearm to fill with paint dust and tiny shards of metal.
Hrm.
This is different.
But, going off to wash it out (helpfully, the nearest running water is only twelve stories down and a quarter-mile away), it's actually only about a quarter-second's worth of damage. Considering everything that runs through one's forearm/wrist there, this could have been a terribly exciting day - really, this just stings a lot.
So today, I'm very, very thankful for pain, because the surprise of unexpected pain caused me to release the hold I had on the sander, and as a result it didn't go any deeper. This will hopefully heal up in a week or two.
There's so much to be thankful for.
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