December 19th
Someone has been living in my apartment who smokes. I can smell him everywhere, in the sheets, in the bathroom, a strange ugly perfume that is not mine.
Yael has been here and she’s cleaned for me. She left me flat chocolates on the table in a box, with a note: Welcome back!! Love! Yael.
I slept last night in fits, still in pain, so I had to get up and break one of my emergency valiums in half. I downed it, licking the crumbs from my fingers like some London-dark desperado. Even though it’s warm here, and the sun shone a light, I had to scrunch in half to hide from it, in my oversized, rented-out bed.