Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude
Slowly, slowly I raise myself from my pillows, lift the duvet, and slowly, slowly I get out of bed. I am panting, sweating, feel dizzy from all the blood hammering away in my chest, but eventually I am standing upright on the rug. My thighs, hips and stomach are a quivering landslide since my bones can hardly bear their own weight. I reel, and have to hold on to the side of the bed; the floor resembles an undertow beneath my feet. Right, then. That’s the state of play, that’s how things are right now, and this is how it has been many times, it’s just a question of getting a good grip on the crutches, gritting my teeth.
‘Damn it, straight into the jaws of hell!’
Johan makes a quick-tempered move at the sudden sight of me in the kitchen doorway. The shock is probably due to the fact that after several months I am once more standing upright in my own house. My hair has probably tangled itself into great big knots and the state of my nightdress and the way my body smells have been affected by my long
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