Fear is the Mind Killer

Okay, Joel. No more putting it off. You drilled the holes in the ceiling and the roof yesterday. You've assembled the vent pipe. You've got all your tools together. You set up the ladder yesterday. Today - no, no, this morning, first thing - you will go up on the roof and install that fucking pipe. Any handyman can do it; you've seen guys skipping on roofs with a much steeper pitch than this in their stocking feet. Just do it: Ten minutes and it's done forever. Just do it: You know you're going to.

I've been in a traffic accident that tore a leg right off, broke two other limbs so that bones were sticking through the skin and broke my head, and I didn't disgrace myself. I've looked down the barrel of a pistol so close I could count the lands and grooves and though I thought shit was going to run down my leg I stayed calm enough to do what I had to. I've looked into the sharp, capable teeth of an animal that wanted to tear my throat out and waited calmly until my bullet could kill him cleanly, and felt nothing but sadness for him. I'm not a hero, but I'm not a coward.

So why does a simple thing like a solid roof paralyze me so?

This is my enemy. Going up the ladder isn't so bad. Transitioning from the ladder to the roof isn't so bad. Walking across the roof is pretty bad, but I know I can do that. Doing the actual work on the roof is nothing at all. It's the trip back down, moving from the roof to the ladder, that has made me sit trembling for hours. It's embarrassing as hell, but that's the way it is. I don't know why.

C'mon, you fucking oaf. You've readjusted the ladder's angle a dozen times. You've even braced it with concrete blocks, because you know that fear of it shifting will stop you on the way down. You've got a hundred times more safeguards than a sensible man would need. Just get it the hell over with.

Okay, you're near the top. Walking down the slope is harder; I don't know why. You walk confidently down much steeper slopes every single day when you walk the dogs. Why is a roof so much different?

*sigh* Because a roof isn't on the ground.

Okay, it's done. Yes, I know the vent isn't straight; it will be when the bottom is attached to the water heater. Now: Turn around and go to the ladder. You know you're going to eventually; you've never actually spent the rest of your life sitting on the roof staring at the ladder. Sooner or later you're going to do it, so this time let's make it sooner.

Walk slowly, carefully down the slope to the ladder. Take off your tool belt and lay it next to the ladder. Wiggle the ladder; yes, it's solid no matter what your fear tells you. Go to the left side of the ladder, hanging on tight, so that you can swing your meat foot (Oh, gods!) out over open (I'm gonna fall!) space and then bend (I can't do this!) your left knee, the one with no muscle at all and not nearly enough cartilage hang on to the ladder let your arms do the work (the ladder's shaking!) feel for the rung just under the eave you can do this (I can't!) yes you can feel the rung under your boot now lean forward move your plastic foot off the roof hang on the ladder now you're safe you're safe you're safe grab the tool belt down the ladder right foot on the ground left foot on the ground. Turn from the barn, pick up any random rock from the ground and kiss it like a lover.

God, I hate roofs. Half an hour and two cigarettes later, my hands have almost stopped shaking. But that's done.