Bad sign

So I’m going home on Saturday to help clean up my room for my mom’s impending move out of the house I grew up in.

Mom, of course, chose this as the best time to trip over a box and fracture her wrist, so that she can’t lift anything heavier than eight ounces.

I got the following IM from her today:

mom: greetings from the home for the frustrated–so much to do and so much i can’t do. glad you’re coming–very glad. love, mom

Shit.

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