Ten hours…

Ten hours.

Ten godsdamned hours in that forsaken hotel.

My fibro picked today to assert itself over my body, remind me that it is a broken machine. Things burn, sting, and throb—some all at once. My head hurts, feeling like it has been inflated wrong.

… heads shouldn’t be inflated at all though, should they…

I plan on collapsing into bed when I get there. I’m in too much pain to eat. The only reason I am able to function at all right now is that I had my dear sweet Zappy—you know, my tens unit—in my bag. Enough muscles have been zapped into painlessness that I was able to get into the bus and train.

But I still won’t be home until ten thirty. An hour from right now.

And tomorrow is going to suck. I’m definitely in trouble with the boss. My only comfort is that I am not the only one in trouble.

… time to wait for another bus.

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