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Mistah Kurtz, he dead
Dec. 11th, 2008 03:28 pmUnlike last year's venture into the heart of household darkness, this year's didn't come with the (totally discredited, as it happens) conviction that I'd be attacked and killed by wildlife. This year's came instead with a panic attack at the idea of having to climb to the top step of a ten-foot ladder and then voluntarily step off of it to get through the 1.5ft x 2ft attic access in order to track down the roof leak that killed a piece of my ceiling. But it had to be done, because I got home from work yesterday in the middle of another hard rain, and without the plaster there to direct the leak to one spot, it was sort of raining in the study as well, five or six drips that managed to ruin one of the photos on my mantel and soaked the enormous framed print hanging on the wall (frame: salvageable; print: not so much), and I knew I had to get to the attic or die in the attempt, because there's no one but me in the house to do shit like this. (I'm fairly sure I've never wished harder for a handy boyfriend than I did last night.) I'd already borrowed a ten-foot ladder from work for this very purpose, and after dinner and a couple of fierce pep-talks, I was ready to get started.
Have I mentioned that I'm afraid of heights? As a rule, I do okay if there's some barrier between me and a sheer drop of, say, four feet, but if there's no rail or window or anything to hang onto, I freak the fuck out. I mean, I can't even change light bulbs without getting lightheaded.
So I set up the ladder, in the process discovering that my ceilings are, in fact, twelve feet rather than eleven feet high, climbed up, then spent fifteen minutes telling myself not to be such a coward and to stop trying to hyperventilate, and then after spending another five convincing myself that there was absolutely no physical way to get into the attic without lifting my feet off the top of the ladder, I kind of half-rolled, half crawled in, in the most profoundly graceless manner possible, and then spent a few more minutes trying to calm down and orient myself so that I could stand without stepping off the joists, since my attic isn't floored.
From there, it was easy. I hadn't forgotten my flashlight and buckets, although I had a bad moment a few minutes later when I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone, which I'd planned on bringing up with me -- this is not actually a joke -- just in case I got up in the attic and realized I couldn't get back down without completely flipping out. I balanced my way slowly to the leak spot, found the leak, made sure all drips went into buckets, and made my way back again. Thank God, the descent was way easier than the ascent -- I don't really know what I'd have done if it'd been harder -- with only one bad moment where the ladder wobbled a little as I was stepping down onto it.
I got off the ladder feeling pretty smug, I admit it. Smug enough that I went ahead and changed all the light bulbs in my flush-mounted ceiling fixtures while I still had the ladder, though not so smug that I didn't replace them with compact fluorescents which with any luck will mean that I won't have to climb a ten-foot ladder for years.
And at least my harrowing tale has a happy ending: my trip upstairs has actually done some good! It rained steadily all night, and no more drips, no more ruined belongings, no more ruined ceilings. GO ME.
Have I mentioned that I'm afraid of heights? As a rule, I do okay if there's some barrier between me and a sheer drop of, say, four feet, but if there's no rail or window or anything to hang onto, I freak the fuck out. I mean, I can't even change light bulbs without getting lightheaded.
So I set up the ladder, in the process discovering that my ceilings are, in fact, twelve feet rather than eleven feet high, climbed up, then spent fifteen minutes telling myself not to be such a coward and to stop trying to hyperventilate, and then after spending another five convincing myself that there was absolutely no physical way to get into the attic without lifting my feet off the top of the ladder, I kind of half-rolled, half crawled in, in the most profoundly graceless manner possible, and then spent a few more minutes trying to calm down and orient myself so that I could stand without stepping off the joists, since my attic isn't floored.
From there, it was easy. I hadn't forgotten my flashlight and buckets, although I had a bad moment a few minutes later when I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone, which I'd planned on bringing up with me -- this is not actually a joke -- just in case I got up in the attic and realized I couldn't get back down without completely flipping out. I balanced my way slowly to the leak spot, found the leak, made sure all drips went into buckets, and made my way back again. Thank God, the descent was way easier than the ascent -- I don't really know what I'd have done if it'd been harder -- with only one bad moment where the ladder wobbled a little as I was stepping down onto it.
I got off the ladder feeling pretty smug, I admit it. Smug enough that I went ahead and changed all the light bulbs in my flush-mounted ceiling fixtures while I still had the ladder, though not so smug that I didn't replace them with compact fluorescents which with any luck will mean that I won't have to climb a ten-foot ladder for years.
And at least my harrowing tale has a happy ending: my trip upstairs has actually done some good! It rained steadily all night, and no more drips, no more ruined belongings, no more ruined ceilings. GO ME.
