My daughter wanted me to sit inside the little house she'd made with the dining chairs, so I folded myself under a bedsheet and stayed there for nearly half an hour. No back support, one leg going numb, and still more comfortable than the chair I choose voluntarily for eight hours at office. I think it helped that nobody needed me to look attentive. We lay down eventually and she put her warm feet against my stomach while explaining the rules of her house. When I crawled out my hip made a sound that impressed her hugely. I'm tired tonight, but it's a different tiredness from staring at the laptop until the words blur.

Appa brought another newspaper cutting about managing young employees. Some of the advice was so obvious I started preparing my usual gentle explanation that my office doesn't work quite like that. Then I noticed he'd underlined one paragraph and written my name beside it. He was trying to connect what he knows from the depot with what I do all day, and I'd almost turned it into a fact-checking exercise. I still disagree with half the article. I keep thinking about the stories he used to tell of drivers swapping shifts, though; different uniforms, quite familiar arguments. I want to ask him who used to sort those out, because it wasn't always the person with the title.

A college friend sent photos of her new house in the US, including this kitchen with space to turn around without negotiating with another person. I was genuinely happy for her and also immediately, embarrassingly jealous. Not even of the whole life, just that space and the confidence with which she said they'd finally settled. My first reply was all hearts and congratulations, then I kept looking at the pictures while our pressure cooker went off. My husband asked what was so interesting. I said kitchen storage, which was technically true. I don't want to move tomorrow, but I wanted to feel that someone else's good news wasn't exposing my own restlessness.