The Nobel Prize in Poor Judgement
If there was a Nobel prize in poor judgement I would win, hands down I would and claim it with my record as evince, signed and sealed by the magistrates of fate. 

I have no defense, no means to fake my failing flaws, hereditary in nature yet I did not see this coming, did not anticipate rust where no iron could be present; where love came knocking like a vacuum cleaner salesman on a Friday just after lunch. 

Yet I refuse to give up, refuse to give in to the promised land, the green grass and swelling seas beneath the permanently present sky in all hues of blue. 

If there was a Nobel prize in poor judgement, I would win. I would thank them for their judgement, being a being of poor judgement, what else could I do.