Stuck in the Attic

I am discovering there are many challenges to living alone… while I have mastered the trick for opening spaghetti sauce jars, there are other adventures where having someone around might prove helpful. For example – getting down out of the attic.

I woke the other night to hear shuffling about above my head. And then promptly fell back asleep, because that’s the only thing that makes sense at 3am. After hearing the noises again at 6am, and later again that morning, I figured I should investigate. While I have a vast appreciation for critters, I seem to have rules about them roaming around in my house. Especially if it’s a June bug plotting a kamikaze dive bomb attack in my dining room. He lives out in the yard again, scheming for another day.

So, I set to work, putting on my big girl pants and figuring out how to solve my little problem. I already know my ladder is too short, so I’m grateful that I still haven’t removed my roof racks (i.e. begged my friend to remove them for me…) as I ran off an borrow one. I also bought one of those flashy orange extension cords that mean I’m all grown up now. And to top it off, one of those super bright, fire hazard, covered with warnings work lights that people who know what they’re doing tend to own. Home depot helps me with such a charade.

Easy peasy, I am ready to go. After dismantling my closet shelves, I am ready to ascend. Except the ladder doesn’t fit into the closet exactly… It’s ok – I’m good at climbing things. After some acrobatic and fancy stunt work, I arrive covered in insulation and dust in my attic. My insulation looks like it was involved in an epic pillow fight – which would have been entirely fun if I were a smaller fur covered mammal.

Enter the tricky part – getting back down. I have climbed big trees, made my way onto roof tops, into tree houses and general places where I should not have been, and without fail ended up stuck, needing someone to guide me down. Down is way harder than up. At one point I was cursing myself for not being Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. He’d just jump down, and look good while at it. Really all I needed to do was a perfect 45 degree leap through a little hatch and land sideways on my wobbly ladder. No sweat. I sat up there for 20 minutes, plotting my escape, and shaking my head at my foolish ‘will I ever learn?’ ways.

I still don’t now how I pulled it off. Perhaps the heat pushed me into some Zen euphoria where I was able to channel Tom’s agility. All I know is that my next adventure will involve asking someone taller for help. Bruised ego and all…