Back On My Feet
No one came to pick me up.
Instead, they handed me back my phone with a dead battery, which meant no Uber. And if you've ever been to Missing Mile, you already know that train isn't going anywhere anymore.
Honestly. I'm not just anybody. I'm Doreen. I shouldn't have to walk along the side of the road, fending off pickup trucks driven by Jim-Bob and Cletus while trying to remember how to get back to The Continental. At least I know that's where something usually happens on a Wednesday.
I suppose I should count myself lucky. The woman at reception stole my Jimmy Choos and replaced them with a pair of sneakers. They weren't cute, but statistically speaking they probably increased my chances of survival.
Speaking of The Continental... You know that feeling when you come back from a vacation, even a mandatory one like mine, and everything suddenly feels different? The entire neighborhood around the hotel has turned into one enormous construction site. By the time I finally found my way inside, everyone had moved to a floor I'd never even visited before. It took me a solid ten minutes to convince myself I wasn't still in rehab having some elaborate hallucination.
Then Opie casually handed me a fresh stash of opiates. Receiving drugs while questioning whether you're still in rehab is a level of Inception my brain simply wasn't equipped to process.
I wanted to ask Thecla what on earth had happened to the place, but she was standing there looking higher than the construction cranes outside. If I were her, I'd keep a close eye on my friends. If they ever decide to send her to rehab too, I sincerely hope they organize transportation better than they did for me.
Still, rehab is behind me now. Time to move on. You all know me. I'm relentlessly positive. The moment I realized my camera still worked perfectly, I knew everything that really mattered had survived the experience.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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