Day 8 cracked. Couldn't fall asleep till two — body wouldn't settle. Something about borrowed kitchens, the quiet math of not being in the way. Almost booked a flight to Barcelona at breakfast. Took the bike instead, -5°C, pedaled across town to a cafe with tungsten light and a small sandwich. The body said it was fine. The mind said get me out. They met at the kettle of ginger tea I made that night.