I Keep the Inflatable Easter Bunny Behind the Portrait of Dorian Gray

Spring is finally here with all of its usual signs of springy springness: birds are chirping; flowers are budding; baseball players are reporting for random drug testing. While nature tends to its business and the unnatural tend to shaving the fur off their protruding cranial brow ridge due to excessive human growth hormone supplements (aka “vitamins”), for the rest of us spring means turning the house upside down and shaking out all the remnants of winter. 

The beginning of spring is my signal to go into the attic and retrieve the Easter decorations, patio furniture cushions, and other spring related yard amenities out of winter storage. It’s also my signal to put away the Christmas decorations that have been piled in the pre-attic staging area in the corner of the garage.  I have a simple system for the rotation of attic storage: stuff goes up when stuff goes down.  No need to make extra trips since I really, really don’t want to go up into the attic  any more than is absolutely necessary.

It’s not that I’m afraid of the attic; I still go up there, but I try to avoid it as much as possible.  Sure there is the chance of injury as a result of retrieving awkwardly heavy boxes while standing on an uneasy step, disregarding the warning label stating that it is most definitely not a step, but that’s not what I worry about. And no, I’m not afraid of the dark or the possibility of seeing a ghost, alien, or chainsaw wielding psycho hiding up there.   It’s nothing silly like that.

My biggest fear?  That I’ll poke my head into the attic and come face to face with an animal living in my attic, and it will jump onto my face.  And you thought it was something foolish.

Yes, this is really what I fear about going into the attic.  I don’t know when or even why this fear originated but it’s always the first thing that crosses my mind while I’m setting up the ladder.  The animal that I picture is waiting on the other side of the attic door varies; sometimes it’s a raccoon, or a rat, or a possum, or even a nest of bats.  Before Christmas for some odd reason the mystery creature was an owl.  As I climb the ladder, in my mind the potential for such an encounter is very real since all of these creatures have been found living in other people's attics, just not mine.  Not yet.

Many of my deeply held fears are basically psychological Rube Goldberg devices since they aren’t simple phobias but a complex series of potentially occurring ones.  I don’t have a fear of the attic anymore than I have a fear of bats, raccoons, or owls.  C’mon, that would be stupid!  What I have is the fear of the possibility of coming face to face with bat, raccoon, or owl while perched precariously on a ladder as I peer into the attic.  What’s so difficult about that?

I’m sure some readers have already made the leap into amateur psychologist mode.  As they read this, they are analyzing my phobia with the intent to cure me or perhaps reveal a hidden truth about myself that I’ve kept buried.  Could it be that I’m afraid of the unknown?  Perhaps I am unable to take a risk without weighing all the potential consequences, dwelling on the least favorable and sabotaging my chance at success before it even begins?  Does it mean I need to open up more, throw caution to the wind and finally allow myself the chance to be vulnerable because that’s the only way I’ll receive the love, admiration, and acceptance that I’ve always felt was missing from my life?

No.

It just means I have to make a lot of damn noise when I set up the ladder so it knows I’m coming up.