I clearly shouldn’t be allowed to have nice things. If I had a baby, I’d probably drop it on its head. I BROKE my friend’s porch door, by walking into it, because I forgot that doors have this weird thing where you have to open them to work. Who knew? I almost lost my diamond necklace at Olney Terminal because my necklace broke without me realizing it. By utter miracle I was able to find it, but guess who never wears that necklace on the subway anymore. I snag necklaces all the time. My key slid off my laptop. Not my fault, but still. Second time in a month, fucked up. I am constantly sneezing. That’s not really relevant. I couldn’t find my checkbook for like a week. And lots of words use the letter r. It took my an hour to find my gloves. I almost lost my glove at the Thanksgiving Parade. I break earrings. I dog-ear books, even though I know its wrong. And I have a scab on my hand, from when I literally walked my hand into my stoop while coming home one night last week. Me= wreck. I swear, if I ever do get engaged I’ll probably almost lose the ring. Which is preferable to almost losing the damn baby, if I have one of those. I spill milk, and water, and chocolate milk. I get crumbs everywhere when I eat. And I shed hair. If I had nice things, I’d just lose them, or break them, or dirty them up. It’s probably just as well that that most expensive gift a guy has ever gotten me was a build a phanatic (which was an awesome fucking gift). I’ve lost transpasses (not lately)…and, I just don’t feel nearly as together as I really would like to. Because I am a wreck. I really don’t deserve nice things.