I think my attic has had enough.
I've been filling it up pretty good since we moved in. The new house is smaller than the old one, but the attic has more usable space, so I've been methodically filling it with things that were once stored in spare closets.
It's been a chore. We've had to put down plywood to create a floor, and it's been hot up there. Some of the boxes are quite heavy, and while you can stand up in some places, mostly you're crouching as you move around up there - sometimes with a heavy box in your hands, which is awesome for your back. The a.c. unit and water heater are up there, so there are lines of various kinds running around that you have to be careful not to knock around, and there's insulation that you don't want to get all over yourself. Oh, and we don't have a pull-down staircase, so we've had to get the ladder out every time we want to get up there, which has been frequent.
So, all in all, it's been a pain, but it's been effective. Last night, I was putting the last of the stuff up there, and I guess I should've told that to the attic. "Attic, this is the last of it. We won't be bothering you too often from here on out." I say this because it attacked me.
I got up the ladder and was crouched over the door opening so that as J handed boxes up to me, I could grab them and then put them where I wanted them. I was in the same spot I'd been in many times over the last few weeks with no problems. But then it happened. I raised up, and the roof attacked me. I know what you're thinking - "She banged her head." If only. No, one of the roofing tacks (the terribly sharp and unclean nails used to attach the shingles to your roof) reached out and stabbed itself into my lower back. And when I say it stabbed me, I don't mean that it scratched me - I mean that it punctured a hole into my back. I guess the attic had reached the end of its patience with my intrusion.
I said many bad words...or more accurately, just one bad word over and over with great force. And J looked at my with wide eyes, trying to figure out what exactly had happened. I don't remember if I told him or not, but I do remember saying, "Let's just finish this!" Yes, I went ahead and moved up all the boxes before descending to inspect the damage. Had I been injured and not finished the job, it would've seemed like it was for naught. So, we finished, and then I went down and J did triage.
There was a nice, round puncture - very tender, but not bleeding. J cleaned it with peroxide and put on the old standard: neosporin and a bandaid. I had a tetanus shot a few years ago for something else, so I was good on that score. And by this morning, it was actually looking really good. You can hardly see it among all my freckles, moles, etc. But the attic should know - this ain't over.
3 comments:
Uh - OUCH. That would the sign that you're done!
Wow was that a funny post, you are so funny. Love it. And I hope you back is feeling great now.
Mr. attic better watch who he is messing with.
Did I tell you the story of me handing a fan up to G (who was in the attic) from down in the tiny bathroom. Instead of getting a ladder and holding it for him, I just handed it up to him. So when it slipped out of his sweaty hands, I barely avoided splitting my head clean in half with the sharp metal object and instead just got bashed in the arm and legged, cutting me and ripping my pants. G hears me cursing and can't see what's going on so he comes flying out of the attic (on hands and knees) to check on me. He made it all the way across the house, almost to the attic ladder, when he slipped and fell thru the living room ceiling. Not all the way thru, just his fanny. So I'm standing there still stunned and bleeding from the bathroom fan and I look up to see his a** hanging out of the LR ceiling. He was OK, just bruised, luckily. But when he gets himself up out of there, an AVALANCHE of loose fiberglass insulation comes POURING, and I mean, POURING, out of the hole. Covered every surface in the LR and kitchen. This includes every book in the bookcases, the rug, the sofa, all the dog treat canisters, the open camera bag, a chair... Needless to say we had just spent the entire day cleaning the house before this happened. So we spent the next TWO DAYS cleaning up all the itchy, stingy fiberglass fibers. I cried thru my little mask as I cleaned. Cleaned and cried and cleaned and cried. And I don't cry easily. Next time, I will light the house on fire and walk away.
I tell you this horrific story (in case I haven't already) to cheer you up. Know that it could be worse. The attic gods are powerful creatures and they are not to be messed with. Where's the feng shui for that, I'd like to know.
Glad to hear you're OK!!! And stay the heck out of the attic!
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