Time and I have finally made our peace. Unfortunately this negotiated, undulating agreement doesn't conform to any norm according to the Eastern Standard Time zone or to "business hours," which are highly overrated. I show up for work when agreed, more often than not, and meet deadlines as much as any other person. Yet work may start at 2 a.m., or whenever it is that pain has let me go back to my life in the outside world instead of being trapped inside my skin.
I can't be bound by a 9 a.m. commitment to be seated at a desk because it isn't clear whether neurologically that will be possible. Conceivably, I could twitch, dance, and puke my way to the train station and to an office, but no one will stand near me at the coffee machine.
This is why I hedge often in answering questions about my life because somehow, "disabled professional" = lazy ass. Time flows differently around me. Much like pain, it is always present, always asking, and always waiting.