Sometimes I wonder if I’m just fundamentally broken, or if everyone else is just… better at being an adult? I bought this house a year and a half ago, poured every penny of my savings into it, and for a while, it felt like the greatest accomplishment of my life. After years of barracks and deployment, having a place that was *mine* felt like some kind of peace treaty with the universe. I even managed to ignore the sheer terror of signing away a quarter-million dollars, telling myself this was the discipline I’d learned, applied to something good. Except, apparently, that discipline vanishes the second a small, barely-there damp spot shows up on the ceiling in the spare bedroom. I saw it, of course. For weeks, it was just… there. A sort of faint, almost decorative discoloration, like someone had tried to paint a cloud. My brain, in its infinite wisdom, just kinda filed it under “future me problem.” Future me, who would undoubtedly be less busy, less stressed, and generally more competent than present me. Present me was too busy trying to figure out how to maintain a semblance of a social life while working sixty hours a week and remembering to feed myself something other than instant ramen. The irony is, I spent years being drilled to identify and neutralize threats, to never ignore a small sign that could escalate. And yet, here I am, watching a ceiling cave in because I chose to believe in a mythical, more capable version of myself. It’s like all that training just evaporates when the threat isn't a tangible enemy, but rather… my own profound laziness and a leaky pipe. Now it’s not just a damp spot. It’s a crater. A gaping maw in the plaster, like the house itself is screaming at me for my negligence. And the water damage… oh god, the water damage. It’s probably going to cost more than I spent on my entire furniture set. Am I the only one who gets completely paralyzed by these mundane domestic catastrophes? Like, I can stare down a charging idiot with a knife, but a plumbing issue sends me into a spiral of self-loathing so profound I just… watch it get worse? The sheer rage I feel at myself right now is almost impressive. It’s not even about the money, though that’s going to sting like a mother. It’s the utter, complete failure to act, to take responsibility, to just *deal with it* when it was a minor inconvenience. Anyone else ever feel like they’re faking their way through adulthood, and every once in a while, something like this just rips the mask right off? It’s not even funny anymore. Just… infuriating.