The irony today is this:
I strolled off the plane this morning, honing up some excuse about being late for work in light of 'extreme exhaustion and sunstroke,'
to my boss and the ever-sanguine-consuming editor.
'Cept, after a couple of parked tigers, severe sunburn, the shakes, headaches, hot and cold flushes, I don't have to lie anymore.
My running out of water on the hills, broken gearshifts, and sun has meant the Argus aftermath lives on.
I want my bed. Luckily for me, I walked into a three hour meeting instead.