Crawling to the finish line

Tuesday was the world's worst day. The thing that gets me is that I have an awful day and I go, 'That was it. That was as bad as it gets. The only way is up now.' But it never is, so when will I learn?

Bad days these days aren't actually as bad as at the beginning. Bad was doing a day at work and being faced with a pile of cardboard and making orders of ceremony until 12.30am before going to bed and then starting the whole thing again during our five-week planning of the wedding. Bad was staying up until 3am every night to pack our lives into boxes ready to go into storage. Bad was bursting into tears in the social services office when I thought I wouldn't be able to get a social security number.

Bad these days is learning that payroll hasn't been sorted out yet (though I'll still be paid). Or not being able to find duvet covers that aren't extortionately expensive. The thing that makes it bad is that the Boy and I are so tired. I feel like I'm crawling on my hands and knees to the finish line, which I've arbitrarily set as the flight to Tampa next week. I feel sorry for Bethan and Dude, who are coming to visit before then. They're going to be faced with this mole-like, ashen, lifeless friend/daughter-in-law.

I must remember that bad days happened to us pre-NYC, too.

Yesterday was good though. New friends came for dinner and cooed over the apartment and my lamb stew - which was obviously delicious. We ate a stack of cheese and all was right with the world.