The month and a fortnight at the mountain in Bulgaria was consciously a sort of 'recuperation behind the lines' time, a country house with some novels in it to repair to for a bit. And then the journey back into the thick of things. I seem to have survived the transit, but the bellum omnium contra me is wearing a bit thin, especially in winter. At least in the trenches, I wouldn't have been convinced the Kaiser was gunning for me personally. (Though I'm not saying the idea wouldn't have occurred to me.)
So once again, it's a situation that shouldn't be, and the ways that things that shouldn't be happen inside the always already-understood world are interesting... in an academic sense.
When you have to head back into the abyss, something in the mind reacts very strongly against that prospect. In the event, though, precisely the same part of the soul that had risen so strongly against the prospect rises against the event itself.