Don't burst this bubble

I don't believe in perfection. I think it's unattainable. But for the last month, my life has been nearly perfect: I got engaged to my best friend, my favorite running buddy visited and we finished another half-marathon together, and news arrived that I get to be a Washington correspondent for a full year.

I visited Ben this weekend in New York City. We slept in. Went to the Village (I think) and had breakfast at a diner at 2 in the afternoon. I got boots; he got shoes. We watched Lost episodes from season two until the wee hours. We ate the best cheese burgers ever. Mine totally made up for missing a hamburger from the Lion's tent at Box Car Days. We were that sappy, very much in love, grabby-feely couple.

I should have nothing to complain about. I'm thankful. And I pray that this state of utopia lasts for a long, long time. But good things -- and bad things-- come in three's for me. Want an example? I'm still getting over a bad week in January almost two years ago. My car got towed, I hit two cars (damn hitches) and my phone fell apart (and I likely got ripped off by Verizon when I bought a new one). I can't help but wonder whether this near-perfect life will come to pass. My mom would tell me that I'm being needlessly anxious, giving myself an ulcer for nothing. Or that I'm being my old pessimistic self, to which I'd reply that I'm only being realistic.

I hope this bubble doesn't break. At least, I don't have a car here.