In Which I Take To My Bed Again

I had an extremely long week in work this week. Not only were the hours many, the work was stressful. I spent very little time at home and it seemed like I’d only just gotten into bed  before I was up again. Last night, I got home late again and watched some of the Brexit coverage. I went to bed very late, having seen the polls that suggested Britain’s Remain campaign had won a tight victory.

This morning I woke at 530 am and saw the news. I literally cannot believe it. I’ve grown up in a country where only because of Europe have women’s conditions improved and where travelling freely between myriad countries renders charming some of the scenes at customs in my Chalet School books.

I was so exhausted I took to my bed a few hours ago. I slept badly and daytime naps don’t tend to agree with me. I don’t know whether the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is because the world has tilted in an unfamiliar and undesirable direction or whether my utterly exhausting week and the emotion of today’s result is finally catching up with me. Either way, I’m tired, slightly confused and not at all secure in myself right now.

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In Which I Take To My Bed Again

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