Not even a week, but four days. 96 hours. That's the measure of the fragility of human sense when faced with the dreadful, harrowing and honestly quite physically painful (after a while) affliction.
Some know them as hiccups. Others, as hiccoughs. However you like to spell it, they are very real and very dangerous. I have had bouts of hiccups for four days, on and off. I'll relax, they'll disappear. Then I'll clear my throat, or breath sharply, or move, or stretch, or swallow, and the bell rings. Time for another round slugging it out with the bastards.
Nothing I try works. And it doesn't help that my stress level seems to have gone through the roof. Which isn't, in turn, helped by sitting in the Learning Zone, writing this, and one of the writers we've assigned a story to this week for the uni paper is sat next to me, more or less, forgetting or not knowing who I am, and she's asking her friends what sort of questions she should use in the interview we've got her doing.
Cue-
The answers they're giving, which she is dutifully writing down and probably semi-memorising, aren't filling me with confidence.
Well. That's the grumble of the day sorted. Uni-based funding and ineptitude next time- not on a national scale, just local to me. You will not believe what they've built.
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