Junk

Everything you touch turns to junk. It’s true. I’m a mess. Tonight I backed my car into the garage door and it’s all crooked and broke and fucked up. None of the doors to the exterior of our home open or close the way they should. They stick or won’t click in place, and never when you want them to. The railing up into our kitchen is broke and barely hanging on the wall. The window to my bedroom is sealed around the air conditioner with yellow and teal towels. There are piles of junk everywhere. No matter how hard I try to organize or clean or pick up it’s just junk. I’m a mess. There’s just no excuse.  Brad is frustrated and embarrassed by me and I can’t even blame him.