I managed to get nothing done yesterday except to forget to take Bri to her piano lesson. Her teacher called because she was worried that something had happened to Bri. I reassured her that Bri was fine. My brain obviously was not. I guess I’ve hit rock bottom. I don’t care that the house is a mess. Is that step two in moving recovery? My husband's parents can sit on boxes and eat off plastic dishes. My husband actually asked me if we were going to use real dishes again because I hadn’t unpacked them yet. I reassured him that at some point in the future we would, uhh probably. Maybe I can even get use to this wallpaper.
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