Torn shingles

There’s a shingle in my gutter. We had a bad storm a few weeks ago – thunder, lightning, strong winds. After it was over, I headed to the attic to see if I could find any leaks. My house is just over 10 years old, and while I adore it, the roof is aging. Peering out the front window that looks over the lake, I noticed that three shingles had torn and fallen down toward the gutter. Sighing over how very unfortunate this was, I waited until the rain stopped completely and headed out to inspect the rest of my roof.

It was fine – it’s just those 3 tiny places over my garage. I don’t know a lot about roofing, but my guess is that I could drag out a ladder, examine how the rest of the shingles are attached, then use the extra ones neatly stacked in my garage to repair the damaged spots. It’s rare in life to be able to see exactly what’s wrong (oh, yes, this is an analogy), so it strikes me as rather foolish to ignore the obvious.

Yet I haven’t seriously considered climbing up there a single time. I don’t like heights, first of all. I get a little dizzy and shaky, and who needs to deal with that? Then there’s the fact that I don’t know anything about roofing – what if I mess it up? Better to wait until my parents visit in a couple weeks or to call a professional who can handle such tasks. There’s this typical distance between what I think I could do – should be able to do – and what I’m comfortable trying. I’m honestly not so worried about personal safety – I doubt I’d fall off the roof, and it’s not even all that high. I’m more worried that I’d stumble and be embarrassed if someone saw me. That I’d get up there and break something, making a bad situation even worse. Fall through the roof, get bit by a bug, attacked by a bird – something stupid like that.

The worst part isn’t that my house is sort of falling apart a little bit. It’s that I see it. When I sit in my favorite spot to use the laptop (Does anyone else find themselves in the exact same position even though a wireless network and laptop would allow you to sit anywhere at all?), I look out and see that shingle hanging sadly in the gutter. It irritates me – something’s wrong, and I don’t want to deal with it. But I’m reminded more often than I’d like – find myself scowling out the window, knowing some action is in order.

The damn shingle can apply to any number of areas in my life right now. Is work going well? Nope – shingles are definitely missing and though water isn’t coming through the roof, I fear that during a particularly bad storm, my professional life could end up drowning. When I was so miserable these past weeks, I thought I would do something about it. Drag out the ladder, ignore the fear of embarrassment, and figure out how to nail on some shingles. But now that the talk is over and the pain has eased? Eh. I’ll just do what I do and wait until the next time I’m nearly nonfunctional again.

Then I think about being alone, brought about lately by some posts by the lovely phd me. Not that a reminder was necessary, but shingles are gone there too. Little spots of damage, perhaps. I sometimes forget about them completely, think about how lovely it is to always decide what’s on television, to listen to Paradise Lost on my commutes (I’m trying to be intellectual and cool) then giggling hysterically over the way the narrator says “evil” (I’m neither cool nor intellectual, I fear) To work all evening when the motivation is there. I rarely cook 2 nights in a row, and can live on leftovers for nearly a week. I sleep when I want. Put every little item in this house exactly where I believe it should go. Being single? Not all bad.

But sometimes I get glimpses of those torn shingles. Wish there was someone other than the dog to greet upon arriving home. To have listen to the "evil" pronounced “Eve-L” on my iPod because it’s ever so delightful. (Maybe I could also ask him what’s going on with Milton’s work because between the giggling and having to yell at other drivers (They need to be corrected when they make mistakes! It's how you learn!), I may be missing some major points.) I’d like to care about someone else. To ask about his day and know he cared about mine. See movies. Try to make him laugh. Have him soothe when I’m irritated over something small.

I’d rather ignore the bad spots. I tell myself that there are wonderful people who are still looking for someone special. But I wonder if there’s something in me that means I don’t get to have that. Perhaps those shingles are staying torn. Maybe that’s OK. But what if 10 years from now, I'm looking up at a ceiling that's showing some water damage? What if I deeply regret not trying harder? For not settling for pretty good instead of continuing to wait for incredibly wonderful? But is that like putting up duct tape rather than actual roofing material? So it would still be wrong, just patched in a way that would bother me as much as the original damage?

I don’t think being involved with someone – married, even – correlates to a perfect roof. That everything is just magically repaired and lovely. I realize there will still be bad days, insecurities, fears over being inadequate. I think the major sticking point for me is that I’m doing little to fix either problem – professional or personal. I do some work, try to learn a few things. I write my blog, safely tucked in my living room, choosing words to explain exactly where the shingle is torn and precisely where it rests on the gutter. How it makes me feel to view the shingle. How it reminds me of this other story when I worry over it. I think that's good for me, actually. But at some point, those spots have to be fixed. Since I bought the house, it’s my responsibility to get that done – whether I want to crawl up there myself or call someone to do it for me. Something should happen – the waiting only works for so long, right? I can’t come up with a good reason that I won’t make progress.

Therapy? Ew. I tried that, I whine. It just brought up problems of which I wasn’t aware! In addition to the garbage I already worried over. I couldn’t take it. Dating? Ew again. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but it’s stressful. And I’m out of practice – it’s been quite some time since I’ve been asked out. Almost a year since my last relationship which itself lasted a year. I knew him – didn’t have to worry over what impression I made. Plus, what if I do meet someone and then need to deal with the whole "stay or go?" question in another year or two? It sounds too hard.

So the shingle just hangs there – reminding me that something’s wrong. Minor, perhaps, but wrong. And I’m not doing anything to fix it – just passing by it in the morning when I take Chienne for a walk. Then sighing over it at night when I get home from work, telling myself that it’s too late to call someone today, too hot to get up there myself right now and it’ll be dark soon regardless. Excuses - because for some reason, I’m not ready to move forward.

So I’ll keep writing about the shingle, and hope that someday I can pull myself together enough to pull it down and fix the spot where it came loose.