Not pantyhose…I’m a hoodie and jeans kinda gal.
I hate attics.
Fear them, really.
Not as much as toilets, but likely a smidgen less than bats.
I figured I’d be stuffing the insulation blower in the garage, safe from all things…horror-movie-ish.
But, I had to at least try to partially overcome a fear, right? All inspiration-y and all. So I grabbed the flashlight, spazzed myself up the ladder, and……..looked.
I didn’t see any photos of anyone all burnt up and stuff. That was good. But the orange-red student lamp kinda made me wonder…..(o.O)….
Go, Go SpazzyAss didn’t come to realize the true horror was just around the corner (read: up the ladder)…*I* was going to have to go up into the attic to blow the insulation.
Bat-shit crazy, right here. This girl.
It’s taken me until today to get enough relief in my forearms to write a post…put it that way.
So, up I went, having to HAUL myself up past the almost foot and a half of this thin plywood barricade that surrounded the opening.
Okay, perched precariously on said thin plywood, I needed to get my legs over said plywood.
Craptastic. Ass cramp. (Dude, I am seriously trying not to fall out of the attic and lose all girl-gets-reno hotness in front of my husband)
Okay, I’m in! Got my mask on, the flash-light clipped to the holder I use for my keys around my neck. Feeling for beams…..steady….find a crossbeam….don’t trip on the wires…don’t hit head on ceiling with a thousand nail ends through it…turn around and grab the blower-outer hosey thingie.
Now to manipulate my carcass under cross beams (cuz my I’ve-earned-this-ass certainly ain’t hopping over the buggers) to get into position at the back end of the house (townhouse, not too big).
It was………like Barbie threw up in my attic. Pink, fluffy…snowdome. I wrapped that hose around beams and through my legs and pumped fluffy, choking goodness all around the attic of my home.
GimpGirl got badass on the insulation.
(Seriously, I think it was simply the fact that I overcame a fear and actually had the physicality to do it)
Reflecting upon my accomplishment the following three days has enlightened me greatly:
GimpGirl is a freakin’ dumbass and hasn’t been able to walk properly since.
Ironically, I’m currently studying “Anatomy” as the first section of my Chartered Herbalism Program. I can tell you each and every #$%# muscle that can’t function. I can even tell you to which bones they are attached by origin and insertion.
I can’t #$%# move. My ass hurts in ways three major butt muscles simply cannot justify.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
(Clearly, dude, you weren’t)
Regardless, as I sit upon my sofa with the achy-stabby pains fluttering through my body like the wisps of fluffy pink Barbie vomit…I reflect.
I freakin’ did it.