I'm torn this morning. Part of me wants to stay home from work after getting all of that icky news yesterday. I own the world's softest blanket. I found it on the guest room bed in Eric's parents' house, and let's just say that I came home with it. It's the nicest blanket ever, and I could sit under it and cry and feel sorry & lonesome. That sounds pretty good.
On the other hand, forty-one short years of living have taught me that going to work & getting stuff done is the road to a happier day (and less red eyes).
I know there's nothing really different between yesterday and today. I just have more information. The story's still the same.
Eric is worried and sad this morning. Now he has to go keep the attention of a roomful of teenagers. Soft blankets and a sniffley day aren't a realistic option for him.
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