Someone (no names) has scribbled all over the door with sharpie, and at a later date, on the quilt on our bed with a green highlighter (which I am pleased to tell you, was later determined to be water soluble).
My laptop has been dropped on the floor so many times that a piece of the polycarbonate coating has cracked and fallen off. Someone (no names) so thoughtfully threw it on the floor one day after shoving two CDs into my disc drive.
Just moments ago, I was about to plug my camera into my computer only to learn that somehow the video/PC port on the camera has been pushed beyond the plastic of the camera and into some dark abyss. AAGHHHHH.
I think I might cry.
And so I tell myself what I seem to be telling myself increasingly more often:
It's just stuff. It's just money. It's just money. It's just money.