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Dear Sarah from six months ago, It's April 14th. You're sitting at the kitchen island in those gray sweatpants—you know, the ones with the bleach stain on the left thigh that you refuse to throw away. It's 11:32 PM. You're...

"So wait, does the government just mail us a check for a thousand bucks?" That was my husband, Dave, literally yelling from the bathroom while I was trying to pour my third cup of coffee yesterday morning. Ten minutes later...