Finding Peace in Blown Insulation

I spent ten plus years crawling around the cramped innards of an HH-60 Pavehawk helicopter without complaint (a few expletives maybe). I have slithered into the darkest, smallest spaces in a C-130, and emerged relatively intact. I have been surrounded by thousands of despicable looking crickets clinging to the dank walls of a crawlspace, and kept my cool. But yesterday, while wriggling on my belly in the attic through two feet of blown insulation, I encountered the edge of my sanity, and fell off.

If the pitch of one's roof is exceptionally low, reason would dictate that one choose not to attempt the virtually impossible task of sifting through a mountain of puffy, itchy insulation to find a wire of the same color as the insulation in which it is buried. Certainly, a normal human should not attempt to cram themselves into the sort of angular space that one would find at the edge of one's roof near the overhang. I really thought doing this would be a good idea.

Where I found the energy to do any of this I will never know. I am bruised the full length of my body, yet, despite dreading another trip to the furthest recesses of the attic, I feel the urge to repeat this insanity. I have to because my family is counting on me. Who can deny a family there due? If they desire to be able to illuminate the out of doors with the flick of a switch, who am I to deny them such a seemingly trivial wish?

I don the proper apparel, tools and a prayer, and head up to the nether regions of home. I give myself a safety briefing to the effect of:

"Should we be doing this?"

"Probably not."

"Don't fall off the ladder."

"Okay, what else."

"Uh, make sure the power is turned off."

"Got it. Anything else."

"Not really. Don't think about the huge, very pregnant spider that you watched dangle from the eave of the roof yesterday."

"Great! Thanks for bringing that up."

"No problem. Let's get 'er done."

"I hate that slogan."

"Tough. Get to work."

"You stink as a safety officer."

Sound of toe scuffing rocks as I sulk and walk away to do my job.

My only solace is the knowledge that my dandelion patch will be waiting if I need to visit.