Tearing down the new house

This morning bodes poorly for living in the new house my brother-in-law is building.

I was exiting the bathroom, not fast at all, but off-centered.

I hit the door jam, tore it not-quite off, ripped the paint next to it and popped a nail almost out.

Dad hammered the nail back and kicked the jam back into shape. We are more or less OK; the paint is ugly, but it is not obvious.

This, or something similar, will happen in the new house. No maybe's. This, unfortunately, is who I am.

I know my brother-in-law and sister are aware of my crash tendencies and still offered to let me live with them. But I still feel rotten.