[early morning]

My urge to write in English seems to have faded for a while. Very strange, as I use it a good deal when I'm out and about. My Brain appears to have switched back to my mother tongue; most of my inner dialogue is now in that language. Perhaps it has something to do with the tension I feel around work. Again, not that it's especially difficult, but other people’s troubles weigh on me more than they should, to the point of insomnia. It's difficult to keep toxicity at bay. 

4:55 a.m. Time to go to sleep again.

Bronek died on Thursday.

Recovery

The day at work completely drained me. It wasn't the people, but the low temperature and the fact that I was on my own in the building today, worrying about the things I usually don't need to think about. It was more emotional and visceral than anything else. Fred came to collect me and drove me home, after which I started scrolling through Instagram and eating too many crisps. Before long, I had curled up under the blanket and lost all sense of time. Woke up very tired, extremely hungry, shaky and nauseous. Felt so awful that I couldn't finish the dinner my husband had cooked. Took me a little while to pull myself together; the rest of the afternoon/evening I spent under the covers slowly regaining my usual cheerfulness.