Two days later, the ache had not abated, and my patience was wearing thin. I found myself avoiding the exerciser, its presence in the corner a constant reminder of my unresolved discomfort.
The workday began with a flurry of emails, each one demanding more of my time, more of my attention. The ergonomic chair I had invested in offered little comfort against the strain of back-to-back meetings.
By lunchtime, the tension in my neck was almost unbearable. I massaged the sore spot absentmindedly, trying to focus on the tasks at hand.
“You should really take a break,” my partner suggested, noticing my discomfort.
“I know, I know. Just… there’s so much to do,” I replied, aware of the excuse even as I said it.
He frowned but didn’t press further, understanding the demands I faced. It was a silent agreement, one we had fallen into over time.
The afternoon stretched on, the hours blurring into one another. I could feel the pressure mounting, the impending review casting a long shadow over my thoughts.
Despite the ache, I pushed through, driven by a need to prove myself, to meet expectations—even as my body protested.
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