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The problem with starting a blog is that I don’t feel comfortable blabbing about random junk when I don’t already have a pile of random junk to sit on. You see what I’m saying? So I’m starting off with essentially a placeholder, something totally unimportant. Say, this weird bruise on my thighs.

It’s a straight line across the top of my legs and it took me a solid day to figure out what it was from: climbing onto the shed roof to check out the attic above the garage. Well, the bruises are probably from climbing down, actually. There used to be stairs. Neighborhood kids got up and pulled the shingles off the roof sometime before I was born and now there are no longer stairs.

It’s not a very exciting attic. Two windows, rafters, a plywood floor; an empty cardboard box, a couple of planks. No magical portals or ancient secrets. It took us a while to find the key for it–it has an external door, hence why I was climbing on the shed to get to it. It probably hasn’t been entered by humans in a few decades; the screen is ripped so who knows what else has been in there. Somebody was going to turn it into a rentable room before building codes changed, so it’s been basically unused since the 60’s. Too inconvenient for storage, for anything, really.

I’d always wanted to see it, though. This is my grandma’s summer house; I grew up here, knowing the attic existed, but I never got to get up there and see it. Now I have, and I have the bruises to show for it.


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