I know I have every right to look like a disheveled basket case. I lost my home, my boyfriend, and my pets in one hour-long conversation and then spent the rest of the day hauling all of my stuff back to my dad's house. My inner Type A perfectionist doesn't listen, though, and relentlessly castigated me for not only crying in front of Matt and his friends (repeatedly), but for not having the energy to find my makeup and a cute outfit for the first day of class or to wow the teacher by participating.
Needless to say, I'm beat. I'd declare it vodka o'clock and retire to my knitting, but grad school orientation is tomorrow and showing up hungover on top of everything else probably isn't a good idea. Back to unpacking, I guess.