The day after my last post, an opportunity to move to a bigger, better, cheaper house two towns away came up. And I jumped on it, even though it meant a ridiculous amount of stress trying to get my life packed up and moved in a little under two weeks. And then I got to the new place and ... it didn't work out quite like it was supposed to. Basically the place was a fucking pigsty -- and I got stuck with a bunch of my mom's excess belongings because, oh yeah, she up and moved to another country.
I'm not proud of it, but I've basically been eating anything not red-hot or tied down, as long as it didn't require cooking or effort. You can imagine how healthy that's been. I'm pretty disgusted with myself right now, but I also seem to lack the give-a-damn to do anything about it. I'm hoping once I get my kitchen unpacked, and feel like I can actually accomplish things instead of merely getting through my days ... I don't know.
I know I could've eaten properly the last three weeks. It would've been monotonous, boring, and irritating, but I could have done it. But at the same time ... I couldn't. I don't deal with upheaval well, even when I choose it. Mix it with my mother taking off (we talked every day and now I have no way to contact her) and I'm basically a fucking wreck and don't even know how to start to fix it.
