I can’t get anyone’s name right today. It doesn’t matter if it’s people or pets.

“The grandparents took Noah, I mean, Evan to get a haircut yesterday.”

“Get Noah, I mean, Westley off the kitchen table.”

I spent the evening thrashing about with a wicked migraine and it still feels like my head is filled with concrete. Doug is now concerned that I’ve had a small stroke. I think he needs to pay closer attention to the Freudian slips.