I Can’t Fix Shit

I can’t fix shit. I can’t install, assemble, repair, maintain, build or otherwise perform any manner of mechanical activity on any physical object whatsoever.
I am a klutz.
There, I said it, and I don’t regret it.
Now I can go back to trying to install a gate to keep our eleven-month-old from tumbling down the stairs.
PS: I exaggerate. In fact, I have:  assembled stuff — furniture, baby equipment, gas barbecue grill — that still has yet to fall apart; patched and replaced bicycle tubes; replaced all manner of computer parts; done very basic plumbing repairs without fucking up (and have also done them with fucking up); and so forth. But it’s slow, painful and perilous, because I am a klutz. Though I read instructions and how-to books, usually something comes up that is undocumented. That’s when a person needs creativity, courage, imagination, balls, talent, skill. I have a little of the first three, but very little of the last two.