How not to raid an attic

How frustrating! I got out of the habit of blogging just as soon as I got into it. Well, I guess I stopped trying. I’m a hard girl to keep attentive. Without any feedback, praise of general adoration on here, I keep deprioritizing posting, which might be ironic, since I need to keep posting to get an audience. Let’s fight once more, and dance the eternal dance of validation.

Now, things have been weird. With all the talk of E3 and the generation of consoles I am missing, the first generation since consoles began in my family, I felt a bit nostalgic for some of the old systems. I dug around in my attic, where I am sure there is an original Xbox somewhere, hiding like a wanted criminal amongst dust and mite, waiting for a chance to make his move and ride a motorbike to Vienna. No, wait, wrong flashback. Instead of the Box of X-iness I found a lot of… well I don’t think anyone goes up there regularly. While sifting through the piles of old papers, and dragging aside the overflowing bags of mustiness, I found plenty of junk my dad left. He was always leaving stuff. That’s what he was best at, not being around, not doing stuff, but leaving bits and pieces everywhere, like the memories in my head. It’s all weird machinery parts like he was building something big, but it was just useless lumps of metal. I’m no expert but I don’t think it would even belong to an engine or gears. I don’t know what he wanted with them. There were lots of notes as well that might have gone back to his teaching days, when he was lecturing at university. Mum could be herding them or maybe she just doesn’t know they are there. Like I said, I don’t think anyone had been up there for a while.

I pushed all that aside too, and took a deep breath, and then coughed a lot because of the fucking dust. I remember that clearly because my eyes streamed with tears after coughing for about a minute and felt like ants were dancing on the back of my throat. What did they have to be so happy about? They were doomed, as soon as I got my shit together and swallowed enough moisture. That was enough though. I climbed back down to the living area after that, defeated by creatures much more tiny than myself. But I have to admit, I’m curious now about what my dad left. I’ll definitely go back up there at some point. 

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2 thoughts on “How not to raid an attic

  1. I am curious about what you dad left as well. Was he a closet megalomaniac trying to make the ultimate doomsday machine? Looking forward to your next post on this. =)

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